


Vilification

by Seselt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Light BDSM, Veela
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-05-23 23:05:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6133240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seselt/pseuds/Seselt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We'd won, and all I wanted was to rebuild my life in peace. Instead I got a fearsome responsibility I never wanted; control over a man I loathed. Malfoy was a Veela and I was his Mistress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Whiphand

I've woken in many strange places. My first thought regaining consciousness was how warm I was and I wondered for a moment if I had drowsed off in the backyard of the Burrow. That was one of my favourite things to do on long summer afternoons. It's been almost two years since the end of the war and I still don't think I've caught up on all my missed sleep.

Bang up on the supply of nightmares and cold early mornings. And watchfulness. I catch myself keeping an eye on people at work. Not staring, just watching in my peripheral vision. Just in case.

So I was warm and not lying on soft grass. Details percolated in, bright light beyond my closed eyelids, the ruffling of stiff institutional sheets and the ground-in medicinal smell common to all hospitals. No machines going ping, though. Thus, St Mungo's.

I opened my eyes. White ceiling, smooth without panels or those odd grids you see in modern buildings. Floating ceilings, I think they're called. I'll have to ask Dad. He likes DIY and knows all the jargon. Turning my head, it's a bit sore so I move cautiously, I see one of the private examination rooms. Been there, done that.

When I sit up, I feel a bit woozy. Last thing I remember I was at work. If I've fainted, I'll never hear the end of it from Molly. She thinks I'm working too hard. Says the same to Arthur and Percy. Ron and Harry get it worse as they're Aurors. Molly worries all the time.

Can't blame her, really.

I'm still in my work clothes. There's no blood and they're not unusually rumpled so it doesn't look like I was in an accident. Stray hex perhaps? The Department of Magical Law Enforcement as been trialling new security spells and they've been a bit tetchy. I suppose one of them could've knocked me out.

No lingering muscle stiffness and when I investigate my head I don't find any bumps. Back to the classic swoon, then. Embarrassing but acceptable. I didn't sleep well last night and I rushed breakfast. Low blood sugar perhaps.

Swinging my legs out from under the blankets I cautiously slide off the bed. The wooziness is still there but I'm steady enough on my feet. I take a couple of paces up and down along the bed to test my balance. Seems okay.

There's an odd smell. I check myself. Did someone spill something on me? The scent of salt and cold water, as best as I can guess. There are several saline based potions, including one for dehydration that the Healer might have given me. I don't think it's coming from me though.

In stocking feet, I pad to the door and pause there to do another self-assessment. I feel fine. A slight mental fogginess as though I woke suddenly and the temperature thing. Maybe I'm coming down with something. I suppose I could take a few days off and sweat it out. Molly would be happy to ply me with soup. It must be fairly serious if I ended up in St Mungo's.

I open the door then stop suddenly as I cross out of the Quiet Spell on my room. People are shouting in the corridor. People I recognise. I would've drawn my wand if I'd had it. I don't, which is a far more pressing problem than incipient sniffles. I want my wand.

I want my wand.  
I don't like it when I don't have it.  
It's not a paranoia thing.  
I just prefer to have my wand.

I am a witch, after all.

I take a deep breath as I survey the combatants. Harry is holding Ron back. Molly and Arthur are there too, both red in the face. A couple of Healers not looking too pleased with the rumpus. And Draco Malfoy, being restrained by his mother, who looks like she's having a tough time of it.

“Excuse me.” I do my best impersonation of a substitute teacher with an unruly class. They all turn to look at me. Harry and Ron move quickly to put themselves between me and Malfoy, who grimaces and shudders like he's being electrocuted. “What's going on?”

“Please get back in the room. I'll explain, but right now you need to be not here.” Harry said urgently, Ron backing up his request with an imploring glance before returning to glaring at Malfoy. Who was glaring right back as though it was Hogwarts again.

I did as he asked because I could see my presence was only making everyone more tense. Which was odd enough it made me cautious. When I shut the door, the spell was still active. All sound beyond snuffed out leaving me in what I presumed was supposed to be soothing silence.

I'll admit that I made noise deliberately as I searched the room for my wand. It was disquieting, ha ha, to be alone when I knew my friends were just outside. I tried not to think of it as being locked in. I could leave whenever I wanted.

Still didn't like it.

There was the expected medical paraphernalia and my shoes but no wand. I put on my leather flats. They were my favourites, comfortable and I think quite stylish.

Sitting down on the bed I gave some serious thought to the last thing I could remember. I'm sure it was Ron, Harry and I meeting in the Atrium to head out for lunch. We don't always get together for the midday meal (midday random grabbed snack while reading endless reports, more like) but we try to.

We were running a bit late so there weren't many people and... that's it. Perfectly normal day then hospital. And why was Malfoy here? Had he done something? Wasn't he supposed to be under house arrest? He'd been lucky to get away with such a light sentence. Lucius was in Azkaban for life.

When the door opened it wasn't Harry. Molly Weasley walked in and sat down on the visitor's chair then didn't say anything. She was still flushed, with that pinch to her mouth that gave away how upset she was even when everything was 'fine'.

“Just tell me.” I said, not wanting to have all this palaver over what I firmly hoped was a bit of random magic or a careless curse.

“This is all nonsense. We'll complain, of course. And there's plenty you and Ron can do so don't worry, Hermione. Everything will be fine.” She was babbling, trying to be reassuring which for Mrs Weasley was about a seven out of ten on the agitation scale. She was very concerned but it wasn't life threatening. And it didn't involve her children. Just me.

We get along well most of the time. She's kind and welcoming and very happy that Ron and I are seeing each other respectably, as she put it. Not like Harry and Ginny who make no attempt to be discreet. It's only sometimes, in little ways I shouldn't notice that she draws a line between her family and me.

It's the same for Fleur. Little things. So I notice without wanting to that she is more concerned about Ron and me than just me. Which was a clue, I suppose. Along with that odd smell that had been very strong in the hallway.

When I pressed her for information, she told me. Not in detail. Molly phrased it as though this was another conspiracy, that there was no question of it not being a vicious plot. That the Malfoys were psychologically incapable of simply wanting their privacy.

When she finally told me the secret I was underwhelmed. The Malfoys were descended from the union of a wizard and a Veela. Apparently some centuries ago it had been quite the rage to infuse one's lineage with the blood of a magical creature. Such heritage carefully dispersed brought great power.

Unfortunately the pure-blood habit of marrying cousins had concentrated the traits rather than diluting them. Molly was rather smug about that. The Prewetts had always been careful in that regard, happy to marry out of the Sacred Twenty-Eight or even out of the country.

To pure-bloods. I thought it but didn't say it. The old grudge between the Weasleys and the Malfoys wasn't something I could fix. All I could do was ensure my children didn't parrot their grandparents' bias.

“I don't see how Malfoy's heritage has anything to do with why I'm in hospital.” I sounded petulant. That smell was starting to really annoy me and I was still warm. I cast a Cooling Charm, which made Molly frown.

“You're feeling alright, aren't you, dear?” She asked with well-concealed interest. She hadn't told me everything, I could tell. Well, quid pro quo.

“I'm fine. It's stuffy in here. I don't see why I'm shut away when it's Malfoy who's causing a scene.” The verbal fishing didn't get me any more information. She clammed right up, patted my hand and spouted some drivel about me being over-tired. Mrs Weasley left, quickly replaced by her son.

Ron looked furious. He was trying to hide how angry he was, which was never a good sign. His affable smile was strained. He sat down beside me on the bed and held my hand.

“It'll be alright, Hermione. We can sort it out. We'll get married and get you pregnant and then the bloody ferret can go sniffing around somewhere else.” He was trying to reassure me. He failed. His statement was so odd I paused to mull it over wondering if I'd misheard, when a whole chunk of understanding slid into place. 

“Malfoy thinks I'm his mate.” I realised what Molly had been trying to say or hint rather. If Draco had inherited sufficient of the Veela traits for it to be a problem then he was more than likely to be manifesting the behaviour. Veela were territorial, aggressive when threatened and had a strong drive to pair-bond. “He's delusional.”

“That's what Harry and I said. That bastard's just doing this to get back at us.” Ron's partisan view of all Slytherins was patent. It hadn't abated an inch since the end of the war. If anything, seeing so many of the baddies get light sentences had made his anger against them worse.

“If he's simply being vindictive then we don't have to do anything, certainly not anything rash like getting married.” I would've liked everything to be sunshine and roses after we'd put Voldemort to bed with a shovel. But the healing process took time. I could well believe Malfoy was being a vengeful tosser though if he wanted to bond with a witch to aggravate Ron, Ginny was a purer target.

“You don't want to?” There was a mix of unflattering relief and a little stung pride in his voice.

“Not at twenty.” I loved Ron. I loved Harry. I loved my life. In the fullness of time I'd love children, but right now I'd like the opportunity to love myself and just be me for a while. “We don't have to fight any more. We can relax.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, understanding the need to breathe. “Not to be rude or anything, 'Mione but I asked because I want to help you. Not because I'm ready for all that.”

“A baby is a big 'all that'.” Coming from a large family he mightn't think so. There was always someone around to mind the little ones. As an only child, the child of only children, having a baby had always been explained to me as a huge commitment you needed to be sure about. You had to be responsible. “Muggle birth control might have the same effect. Some types mimic pregnancy hormonally.”

“So Muggles wander around all bloated and cranky?” Ron's question made me laugh. Fleur's pregnancy with Victoire had not been an example of glowing, serene motherhood. Most of that I put down to the stress of the war and possibly some of Bill's werewolf infection warring with her Veela genes.

I explained about the Pill and Ron calmed down. He hated Malfoy. He wasn't going to like what I wanted to suggest. However, I was not going to sit in this room twiddling my thumbs like Rapunzel.

“I want to talk to him.” I said when I thought Ron had cooled down enough to listen to reason.

“Bloody Hell!” The curse was more comment than outrage. He went red again but he was a tactical thinker once he'd had time to rein in his temper. Years of living with Fred and George had made him averse to surprises, that's all.

“I need to. Or he'll get his own way. Even disgraced, he's got the bulk of precedent on his side. You know how bad those archaic laws against werewolves were.” We'd looked them up to help Remus and Bill, then to help Teddy get legal status as a wizard. Some of the old statues were frankly fascist. “And I want my wand.”

He handed it over as though he'd forgotten he had it. I clutched my vine wood with pale knuckles. It had been returned to me after the Aurors had cleaned up the human remains amongst the bridge debris in the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts. One of the dead Snatchers had it on him. I have never told anyone how glad I was my wand had not saved him.

Ron clearly didn't like me talking to Malfoy but he knew what his brother had gone through to get his marriage acknowledged by the Ministry after the war. Bogging someone in red tape and lawsuits was easy if you had money and patience. The Malfoys still had the former, with enough spare to buy the latter.

The first thing I noticed when he came into the room was how dishevelled he was. Even at his worst, Malfoy had always been well put together. Now his hair resembled Harry's and his shirt looked like he'd slept in it. No tie, no jacket. His shoes were polished but the toes were scuffed.

And he just stood there as I looked him up and down. He was breathing hard and that damn smell was definitely his. Salt, cold water with an overtone of citrus from his cologne. Sweat glistened on his skin turning it from alabaster to opal.

Hell, no. I had not just thought that to myself.

“Let's hear it, then.” I said, not saying outright that I was expecting him to lie but I think he heard it anyway. He stiffened, looking down his nose at me. When had he got so damn tall?

“I don't want this!” His voice shook with anger and a bit of that stubbed pride like Ron. I was not being tactful at all today.

“Good. That makes two of us.” Ah, no tact there either. I gave myself a mental clip upside the head. “It is my understanding that you are suffering from a Veela bonding urge.”

“Yes.” He said the word with his teeth.

“With me.”

“Yes.” More teeth, almost a snarl. I stared at him, keeping mum so he could collect himself and offer more explanation than two syllables. “How can you be so calm? I want to fuck you so badly it hurts. You, the Mudblood. I hate this.”

“Why should I be alarmed?” I didn't think I was being that mellow, though compared to Malfoy's taut bowstring body I was ice water. The Cooling Charm helped. At least I wasn't sweating. “If you attack me, I'll turn you into a garden ornament. If you try to browbeat me, I'll hex you out the door. This medical condition of yours has got me out of a dull meeting this afternoon. So life is simply peachy.”

“Bitch.” He groaned. I shoved the chair towards him with my foot.

“Sit down. You look faint.” I was surprised when he folded up into the seat like a good boy. I had expected a sneer at least. “Have you had this reaction with anyone else?”

“No.” Malfoy clearly warred with himself and the social expectation of a civil conversation. “When the nesting instincts first began, we assumed it was in response to the marriage negotiations. Father was the same. Psychological stimulus can suppress or encourage the urges.”

“I expect Voldemort was one long cold shower.” Given the sensitivity of Veela to Dark Magic, being around Death Eaters would have kept the symptoms at bay. Most magical creatures got the jitters near such negative energy.

“Absolutely.” He took a deep breath, fidgeting with his hands as though he didn't know what to do with them. In the end he crossed his arms and made himself sit still. “Nine weeks in Azkaban helped too.” His voice was bitter almonds.

“So, why not your fianceé? Surely it'd be easy enough to imprint on her.” Fleur had always been a bit coy about how the bonding process worked. She had assured the Weasleys that it was all voluntary. That she and Bill had fallen in love regardless of her Veela heritage. Having seen the effect she'd had on my schoolmates during the Triwizard Tournament, I wasn't entirely convinced.

“I don't want her.” Malfoy snapped. “She smells wrong and moves wrong and I can't stand it.” He hunched in the chair, clenching his arms to keep still. I could see he had it bad. I didn't trust him but I didn't think he was faking it either.

“What happened at the Ministry today?” If I was going to blame him for being an arse I might as well know all the facts. He didn't look happy to share, clamping his mouth shut apparently unwilling to answer. “Come on, spit it out.”

“I had to register my condition. The Healer I was seeing insisted, in case I was without a mate for a prolonged time.” He spat out the words as though under an Imperius Curse. “I was angry and tired. I had to wait for an Auror to escort me because I'm a bloody security risk. Then I saw the three of you and...” His teeth ground as he tried to keep himself from speaking.

That was definitely a compulsion. I cast a Finite on him in case he had been magically coerced. Harry and Ron could well have put something on him to keep him on his best behaviour. Nothing seemed to change. He was still tense, his steel eyes watching me almost unblinking.

“Malfoy.” I said cautiously to test out a hypothesis. “I want you to relax. Uncross your arms.” There was no push in my voice. Just a request as though I were a Medi-Witch talking to a fractious patient.

And Malfoy unfolded. He rested his arms in his lap. His fingers twitched but he didn't shift. His gaze never wavered from my face. Oh hell, I thought. Circe's flaming knickers and all those other colourful wizarding cusses.

I walked over to him, standing by the side of the chair. I locked the door with a flick of my wand. I did not want to be interrupted. This was no one's business but ours.

“Malfoy, I want you to answer honestly. This is very serious.” Not to say also extremely ethically suspect. “I would like you to tell me if you feel forced to obey me as though you as being puppeted. I know you know the Imperius. I would like you to tell me if you feel you are being made to do what I ask.”

“No.” He breathed, staring at me. “I want to.”

“You don't like me.” It was a statement but he still answered with an emphatic nod. “But you still want to do what I say?” Another nod. Well, shite. “I am going to test the compulsion. I would like you to tell me something you think you'd absolutely not do willingly in my presence. Anything at all but it has to be something you would be able to resist doing even under the Imperius.”

“Wank.” Malfoy said through his teeth. “Never let you see. Never be vulnerable. Never risk being laughed at.”

“I'd prefer you pick something else.” I wasn't going to ask him to do that just to satisfy my curiosity. He shook his head.

“Death Eater. Survival at all costs. I've done a lot worse.” He grimaced, sweating enough now to make his shirt stick to his chest. “Kissed Fenrir's feet once, to avoid the Crucio.”

“That was a bastard thing to make you do.” The feral werewolf would have loved that. He'd have enjoyed rubbing Malfoy's face in it every chance he got. I checked the door was definitely locked. “I'm sorry, Malfoy.” I sighed. “I really want you to resist this.” That was not a command. The next bit was. “I order you to touch yourself.”

He did.

His eyes never left mine as he unbuckled his belt and slid a hand into his underwear, stroking slowly. A dark flush stained his cheeks and his teeth grated but he did it.


	2. Naptime

“Stop!” I ordered quickly, turning away. He tucked himself back into his trousers. I didn't look at him until I heard his belt fasten. “Right. This is not good.”

“I fucking know that!” Malfoy snarled. I glared at him.

“Pissed that you like a Mudblood?” I sneered. I had learned both the word and the tone from him and we both knew it.

“Yes!” He retorted though with less vehemence than I expected. “You've ruined everything. I don't want to deal with this. I don't want you leading me around by my prick.”

“Well I don't want that either.” I walked back to the bed and sat down. Being close to him encouraged me to notice how handsome he was. How the light gilded his silk-fine hair and all that nonsense. “So we are going to discuss this like sensible adults?”

“Kill me now.” Malfoy groaned, wiping his palms on his thighs before clenching his hands over his crotch. “If you mention 'research' or 'library' I am going to throttle you.”

“We don't have to accept this.” I deliberately used the plural pronoun. He shook his head.

“This will kill me, Granger. I'm already on a suppression potion. Spending my life like this, addicted to something I can't have and craving nothing else, is not how I want to live.” He closed his eyes and didn't see me flinch. I'd become so used to his stare that without it I felt alone. Lonely, even. Damn it.

“I'll go on hormonal birth control. That should ease some of the feedback. Veela can bond to other mates. If I make myself unavailable then you'll choose someone else.” I wasn't planning to go as far as Ron suggested. I wouldn't use a child as a Get Out of Jail Free card. “You can't give informed consent in your current state.”

“I fucking consent, Granger. Yes! You, me, now! I'll get down on my knees and fucking beg!” Malfoy shouted, standing up from the chair so fast he knocked it over. The noise of it hitting the floor made us both jerk. He stared at me again, his pupils dilated. Mutely, he knelt, sitting on his ankles, palms flat on the floor.

Oh.

Right.

Shite. And hot damn. I realised then how much power I had over him. I could make him do anything I wanted. I could make him apologise for being a vicious bully. I could make him grovel, kiss my feet and beg for forgiveness. I wanted to hear him say how sorry he was for all the cruelties he had ever inflicted on me.

But I had learned a very important lesson when Bellatrix Lestrange carved my blood status into my arm. I learned I was not her. I would never be her. I wanted never, ever to hate anyone so much that I could laugh as they screamed in pain writhing on the floor.

I didn't like Malfoy. I probably never would. But I was not Bellatrix.

“This is what we are going to do.” My voice shook only a little. It was getting hot again. I cast another Cooling Charm because this was absolutely the moment for a cool head. “I am going to help you. But it will be on my terms. Whatever happens between us will be just between us. I want total privacy because I am not having my life disrupted by your family's insistence on inbreeding.”

“Alright.” He looked at me with grey eyes wide, not trusting but so very very willing.

“We'll work out a contact schedule. I know you'll start climbing the walls if I just send you away.” Having him hang around wouldn't be fun. Maybe if I had him sit quietly in a corner I could ignore him. Hopefully he had a lot of books he wanted to read. “I want you to take a Calming Draught, if it won't interfere with the potion you're on, and try to get some sleep. I'm not going to hang you out to dry.”

He stared to cry and I could see he hated it. More than anything he prided himself on his control. That cold Slytherin mask was in pieces. He feared being vulnerable. He'd told me so himself and now I was seeing it.

I knelt beside him, consciously mimicking his position. My shins objected to the hard floor but I could stand it for long enough to do something I never thought I would. I hugged Draco Malfoy.

The world did not end.

He shook, wracked with sobs half from exhaustion and half mortification. I knew that feeling. I'd cried a lot in the tent during that miserable year. It was soothing sometimes to weep so I didn't try to shush him or cheer him up. I rubbed his back.

Someone knocked on the door. I felt the spasm shoot down Malfoy's spine as he tried to quiet himself and regain his composure. His face was a kabuki mask of red and white. I took pity on him because I really can't help myself.

“Go into the bathroom. I'll deal with whoever it is.” I got to my feet and went to the door, giving him time to retreat before I answered the knock. Narcissa Malfoy stood there as implacable as a caryatid. Her gaze swept the room behind me then paused on the bathroom door.

“Have you agreed to my son's request, Miss Granger?” Her tone was bland as though she was inquiring whether I wanted tea. She was difficult to read but at the sight of the Weasleys' furious faces over her shoulder, I assumed they'd assumed Malfoy would convince me to let him have his wicked way with me.

“I haven't.” I tried, really I did, not to smirk. Getting Narcissa off-side over her son might not sign my death warrant but I would certainly not enjoy life. With her husband in Azkaban she literally had only Draco to live for. “But I will help him. My way.”

“You don't have to do anything for that snake, Hermione.” Arthur, normally mild, would never stand by to allow someone to be coerced by a family like the Malfoys.

“I know. I won't be rushed into anything else either. Ron and I aren't ready to settle down, so I'll find a way to solve this problem that works for all parties involved.” I caught the slightest narrowing of Narcissa's eyes. “That includes Draco. He's hardly over the moon at being infatuated with me.”

There was a chorus of half-restrained comments from the Weasleys and Harry. Molly looked disappointed, more I expect from the lack of an impending marriage. As sure as the tide, Harry and Ginny were going to get a lecture this evening on their living arrangements.

“So you are content to allow my son to suffer by prolonging this?” Narcissa asked again in that 'would you like scones' tone. I saw a chasm open before me and as much as I wanted to jump in with a cheery Gryffindor affirmative, I didn't. I did twist the knife a little, which I'm not proud of.

“All Malfoy has to do is trust me and he won't suffer. Surely he can do that.” I smiled. And scratched my left arm where her sister's scar was still livid. It was itchy. I wasn't entirely doing it to thumb my nose at her. “I'm going to fix this, Mrs Malfoy. I think you can depend on my track record.”

All she did was nod crisply and walk away to sit on one of the waiting room chairs. The Weasleys approached for a conference.

“I'll shift to my parents' house for a week or so while I get Malfoy stable. He's clearly not been sleeping.” I saw the question Molly was going to ask and shook my head. “I don't need anyone to stay over. He'll just annoy more people that way.”

Ron muttered something about Malfoy's innate gift at irritation. He wasn't wrong. But I didn't want anyone else seeing the power I held over him. I wasn't wholly comfortable with it and I knew Ron and Harry would try to provoke Malfoy until I had to use the leash.

“Are you sure that's wise?” Arthur asked after his wife covertly jabbed him. “His aura will try to persuade you. It's a powerful lure, Hermione. We want you to be careful.”

“I will be very careful. I'll lock him in the guest room if I have to.” I glanced at Narcissa sitting so very composed on the uncomfortable institutional chairs. “I'd like Percy to look up the laws relating to Veela mates, if he wouldn't mind. I'm not going to let the Ministry or the Malfoys make me do anything. We've all had enough of that.”

That seemed to be the right thing to say. I got a round of hugs and promises of assistance. The Weasleys wouldn't spit on Malfoy if he was on fire but they'd gladly help me. Ron looked a bit sulky, however he gave me an extra long hug and promised he'd let me handle it. For a week or until Malfoy needed hexing.

I shut the door with a sigh. I needed to do some research and build a workable treatment plan. Having a chat with Fleur and Bill would probably be sensible too.

When I checked on Malfoy, he was glaring at himself in the mirror. He'd made an effort to tidy up and looked a lot less like a man one step from the edge. I invited him to sit in the visitor's chair so we could talk. He walked past me quite composed. Until he sniffed.

He was fast. He whirled around and slammed me against the wall, his face twisting into something inhuman as he grabbed a handful of my cardigan and brought it to his nose.

“You smell like him!” He hissed. So close I could feel his arousal. It didn't scare me. It made me angry.

“Let go!” I snapped. Our eyes met. He bared his teeth at me even as his fingers released my clothes. “Sit down, Malfoy. We are going to have a little talk about courtesy.”

He sat. He looked like he wanted to curse me. I wondered where his wand was, as I hadn't noticed it when we were touching. To be entirely honest, I'd really only noticed his other wand. And my reaction to him. Bastard.

“Because I don't want to torture you, I'm not going to sleep with Ron until we have this issue under control.” Veela were very possessive of their mates and while Malfoy wasn't a true Veela, he clearly wasn't going to share. I didn't mention that Ron and I hadn't had full intercourse yet. I didn't consider myself a virgin, we'd fooled around very pleasantly, but with Molly on the war-path over Harry and Ginny we'd opted to wait.

“You smell like him.” Malfoy said wretchedly, sweating again. I cast a cleaning spell with a cedar scent I had always liked then held out my arm to him so he could sniff. He inhaled deeply then rubbed his face against my palm.

“I said I'd help. But you have to meet me halfway. No going off the deep end becase my boyfriend hugs me.” I watched him hide a wince. I curled my fingers in his hair and tried not to enjoy it. “The end goal of this arrangement is to get you a nice pure-blood girl who won't mind being raptuously devoted to you. Maybe even get what's her name your fiancee back.”

“Astoria Greengrass.” He informed me sullenly, leaning into my touch.

“Quiet girl, long brown hair, two years behind us?” I remembered her vaguely as being no trouble to me as a Prefect. She'd been polite, which made her a notable exception among Slytherins. “She hasn't graduated yet.”

“The Greengrasses have a lot of daughters to shift.” Malfoy said it like they'd ordered too many robes from Madam Malkin's. I tightened my grip, the spun sugar strands sliding over my fingers impossibly fine.

“It's that sort of attitude that makes me want to leave you to your misery.” I told him. “But because I'm not a bitch, instead you're going to stay with me, catch up on your rest and when you're more clear-headed, we'll work out a visitation schedule.”

“I don't want to stay at the Weasel hovel.” More of the Malfoy I remembered from school surfaced. It was ironic my presence made him more himself, arrogant toe-rag that he was.

“We are going to stay at my Muggle parents' house. It's a lovely semi-detached in Kent. You'll hate it.” I let go of his hair. He looked bereft and I felt the lack of contact too. First thing tomorrow I was going to my GP.

“What will you tell your parents?” He asked, trying to sound normal even though he was staring again.

“Nothing. They're in Australia. And that's all you need to know about it.” I slammed the door on that conversation hard. It was a sore spot. All my fault, and one of the reasons I wanted to be very clear on his consent.

“Just you and me, Granger?” Malfoy smirked and deliberately tracked his eyes lower to my breasts. He was definitely feeling better if he was capable of being crude and annoying simultaneously.

“That's right, Malfoy.” I agreed, leaning in to whisper, which was stupid but he smelled nice. “And you're going to behave. Because you want me to help you. Because I am asking you politely to refrain from being a total arse while I try to keep you from going mad.”

He agreed. He didn't really have much choice but I had carefully phrased my request as a request and not an order. We left the hospital room and while I spoke to the Healers, he spoke to his mother.

Physically I was fine. They were sympathetic though they didn't have many suggestions. The wizarding response to Veela was to lie back and think of England. I thanked them anyway as I expected to be a frequent visitor for the next little while.

We Apparated to my parents' house. It wasn't my childhood home. We'd moved a lot as my parents had shifted for jobs before finally opening their own practise. We'd been in this house for only a year before I received my Hogwarts letter. The place was nice but it didn't hold many memories. 

“This is small.” Malfoy remarked, sticking his head into the living room and frowning at the lounge suite. My parents were careful with money. They bought second-hand furniture so they didn't have to fuss about it.

“It's fairly standard for two professionals in a good neighbourhood.” I probably could have said anything, I doubted Malfoy had any idea what Muggle life was like. I took him upstairs and showed him the guest room. “The mattress is orthopaedic so you should sleep well. The bathroom is down the hall. I'll give you a run through after I've had something to eat.”

“We're not?” He stopped himself, grimacing likely at how needy he sounded. He straightened, his hands going to adjust the tie he wasn't wearing. “I would like to share a bed. The only sleep I've been getting has been out of a potion bottle.”

My first and second instincts were to refuse. I didn't trust him and I definitely didn't want to sleep with him. But I did want him to sleep. The dark smudges under his eyes were as bad as they'd been in Sixth Year. I mentally kicked myself.

“We will trial it.” I used my Ministry voice, wanting to keep this as impersonal as possible. “We can share the master bedroom, on three conditions. Firstly, you will not touch me unless I expressly request it. Second, we will be clothed at all times. Thirdly, if I consider you are being inappropriate, you will go to the guest room without argument. Do you agree?”

He agreed. No surprise there. We have a scratch lunch of soup and sandwiches. A Malfoy elf arrived with his luggage, monogrammed of course. I showed him around the facilities. He showered and changed in the en-suite, emerging in grey silk pyjamas that suited him very well indeed.

I changed into my usual sleeping ensemble of t-shirt and soft shorts. I thought about doing the full flannel nightie and drawers but it was April and I hated sleeping hot. I brought my wand and a book, which Malfoy eyed.

He eyed my legs too but kept his hands to himself as he tucked himself into the bed. I got under the covers but propped myself up on the pillows so I could read. Malfoy rolled onto his side facing me and I brushed my hand through his hair before I caught myself. He smiled as he closed his eyes.

He slept for sixteen hours straight. I read for the first three then got some reports from work I needed to finish. I padded downstairs at around seven o'clock to make dinner, which I ate alone. I put his share in the fridge, went back to bed and did some more work then brushed my teeth. And debated with myself about sleeping alongside him.

As Malfoy was still insensate, I opted to give him a chance. One stray finger on my person and he'd be banished. I slept better in company, which I was not going to tell him. During our final year, Ginny and I had pushed our beds together so we had someone beside us. The nightmares were less frequent for both of us that way.

I went out like a light, waking up when Malfoy arose to use the loo. I ducked to the upstairs bathroom and freshened up. He was going to say something to make me regret indulging him, I just knew it, but until he did I could pretend to be civil.

“I'm hungry.” He looked at me expectantly.

“Hello, Hungry. I'm Hermione.” I replied automatically, mimicking my dad. I had to blink and pretend I was looking in the chest of drawers until I was sure he wouldn't notice the tears. I wanted my parents back.

“Very funny, Granger.” His voice quelled my maudlin feelings like a bucket of ice water.

“If milord wishes to break his fast, he will find cold chicken pasta in the fridge.” I told him, slamming the drawer shut. When I turned, he was standing there as though he required more information. Oh yes, the pure-blood master race didn't do appliances.

I showed him how to use the microwave then I ate Weetabix when he consumed half the larder. Last night's dinner went as did the leftover soup from lunch. He kept eating and I let him. He'd lost all the weight he'd regained since the end of the war. I'd pick him up some vitamins when I went to the chemist.

“Feel better?” I asked when he finally paused. He nodded. “I'm going to my GP. I'll be about an hour. You are not coming with me.” I clarified when he looked at me. I wanted to undo his pyjamas button by button with my teeth then kiss my way down his chest. I was stopping that idiocy as soon as possible. “I would like you to have a shower and do all the Malfoy fancy hair stuff you usually do. Get yourself back up to snuff.”

“That's rich, coming from you.” Malfoy sneered, staring at my hair. His fingers twitched as though he wanted to reach out and touch it but he obeyed my rule.

“That's right, Ferret. I'm criticising your grooming. You can't be all superior if you look like you've been on a month long bender.” He actually looked quite a bit better, ridiculous urges to kiss him aside. Still tired but less brittle. “Trust me. We'll soon have you smirking around town again.”

He didn't say anything to that. He went back upstairs and was asleep again when I checked on him. A little sulky defiance never hurt anyone. I washed, dressed and went to have a matter-of-fact conversation with my general practitioner that left out quite a lot of details. The usual sort of talk I have with Muggles. I find it rather depressing.

I had twenty minutes of my hour left to spare so I Apparated to the Ministry to put in a request for leave. Probably due to ridiculous cronyism, my application was approved. I was happy to get out of the building. Not many people had actually seen me faint in the Atrium but gossip had ensured everybody knew.

I took the Floo home as I was a bit pissy to Apparate. I hate being whispered about. Fortunately there was no mention of Veela. The only comment on Malfoy was that he'd argued violently with Ron and Harry. With luck everyone would think it was the same old feud.

I changed into my trackies because I was on holiday and comfy is what I wear on holiday. Malfoy was still asleep. He really must've been strung out. I'd have to remember to ask him what sort of dosage of Dreamless Sleep he'd been on. Long-term use of that potion must be carefully minded.

I took the first of the contraceptive pills. There probably wouldn't be much of an impact for this menstrual cycle but it should do something to ease the symptoms. Or I'd get very good at casting Cooling Charms. I sat on the bed casting all the minor air spells I could recall to see if one got rid of the salt smell.

I hadn't had any noticeable success by lunchtime. The lure of cooking brought Malfoy into the kitchen. He sat at the counter watching me fry bacon and boil eggs for a Caesar salad. I thought he was staring at the gas stove until I realised his eyes were on my bum. I glared at him.

“I still want to fuck you.” He said as though it was polite conversation.

“I bet you say that to all the girls.” I replied tartly, not mentioning that if he'd been more polite about it I might've been persuaded. I was warm in spite of the charm and the way the sunlight caressed his skin made me wonder what he tasted like.

“Just you, Granger.” He grumbled, swearing to himself as though I was some sort of filthy perversion.

That was probably why I said it. While I would like to wholly blame the prat for irritating me enough to run my mouth without engaging my brain, I can't. It was mostly sarcastic. Like I can mostly resist the urge to think lewd thoughts about him. I was going to have to take a look at that suppression potion he'd mentioned and quaff a bucket of it.

“I might believe you if you grovelled.” My version of the Malfoy sneer was there. And it wasn't an order. Not exactly. But he stood and walked around the breakfast bar and sat at my feet, staring up at me with stormy eyes.

Damn.  
Damn.  
Damn.


	3. Fasting

“Malfoy!” I almost groaned in frustration. “Get up.” He got up. Of course he did. And now he was standing very close to me, lips slightly parted as though the air around me was somehow more refreshing. “I thought proximity would help ease the symptoms.”

“It does.” He confirmed, arms tight at his side. “Doesn't make them go away. And you smell delicious.” He sniffed, his mouth curving into a diabolical smile. Oh, he was the Devil alright.

“And what does your other brain tell you?” I demanded sourly, putting a hand flat on his chest to push him away. Then I felt it. His heartbeat, thumping, reverberating up my arm. The cadence called to me. I gave him a shove and he stumbled backwards.

He looked hurt, eyes wide and mouth tight. And erect. I wasn't looking. I mean, I looked obviously to notice the tenting in the front of his pyjamas but I wasn't ogling him. I put my eyes sternly on the bacon.

“It tells me to ask nicely.” He said, through his teeth. “To persuade you. To beg, if I have to. You don't understand, Granger. I hate you but I want this right down to my bones. I can't tell myself I don't want it.”

“What's the use of the bloody suppression potion, then?” I fiddled with the pot and sauce pan, flipping and stirring to keep my hands busy. Touching him was definitely not a sensible thing to do.

“It keeps me from hurting myself. The yearning was so bad before I realised what it was that I smashed my way out of a warded room just to follow the scent.” Malfoy stepped up to me, keeping out of arms reach. “I need you, Granger. Like a bird needs the sky.”

“Penguins.” I said flatly. “Ostriches. Emus. Cassowaries. Kiwis, too, I think. I may be wrong about them.” I risked a look at him and surprise, surprise stared right at his crotch. “Give it time. I'm fairly hopeful the birth control will trick your urge into thinking I'm pregnant. Ron wanted to do it properly but I hope this way will work.”

“I hate Weasley.” He ground out the words. I heard his teeth gnash.

“Ron cares about me. You don't.” I looked him in the eye. “And that's the big issue for me. You don't care. You want an itch scratched. Stop and think about the consequences of this, Malfoy. A half-blood heir. That's what you'll get if you persuade me. The end of the so very pure House of Malfoy. A cute little baby from the Mudblood. I'm even labelled.”

He flinched.

“I wanted to say something.” He muttered. I had to listen closely to hear him. He was still looking at me but his eyes had gone blank with a thousand yard stare. “I'm a coward.”

“So say it now. You tell me right now what you would have said that would've made your crazy aunt stop.” I had heard something like this from Ron and Harry. They'd had to listen to me scream, as helpless as I was to stop it. They still twitched if I raised my voice. Memories echo.

“Curse me, instead.” My eyes narrowed when he said that. Did he mean he wanted me to hex him now? If he was trying to make a joke it was not even ironically funny. “I would've said that. To her. Curse me. But I didn't.”

“Ron did.” I was glad, so very glad, I'd been the only one Bellatrix had got her claws into. We'd all been hurt, the three of us, but we'd always had the other two to lean on. Taking shifts being battered by fate.

“Because he's a bloody Gryffindor. Red badge of courage.” Malfoy literally spat, his lips drawing back in a snarl. If he'd been a cat, I'd sprayed him with water.

“That's a Muggle book.” I was surprised he knew the reference. I wouldn't have picked him as stealthy fan of literature.

“What?” He blinked at me, distracted from his territorial posturing by his own confusion.

“The Red Badge of Courage. It's about the US Civil War.” My mum had a copy of it somewhere. She'd read it in secondary school and had never forgotten it. “That's where the expression comes from, I believe.”

“Dolohov used it. He was always reading.” Now that surprised me. Granted my acquaintance with Antonin Dolohov consisted of attempted homicide and a reciprocal assault but he had never struck me as the intellectual type. I suppose it was difficult to get the measure of someone when they were trying to kill you.

“Did you know them well? The other Death Eaters?” I don't know why I asked that. Pure curiosity, probably. I had often wondered how an organisation like theirs worked when at least half of the adherents were barking mad.

“Some. Mother didn't like me talking to them and once Father was disgraced, most ignored me. I spent a lot of time in the library. Dolohov was always there.”

I marvelled that we had achieved idle conversation without him growling or sneering. I took the pot of water to the sink and drained the eggs, casting a Cooling Charm on them. The shells cracked like crazed pottery making them easy to peel.

I asked Malfoy to get the lettuce out of the fridge, asked not ordered, and he did. He hung about being vaguely helpful watching me cook. When I kept doing it beyond preparation for lunch, he inquired why and I explained about the chest freezer. I did not explain about my lingering need to make sure I was well provisioned.

He asked, nicely for him, if I wanted to go to bed with him. When I said I did not, he asked if I would mind him taking care of the matter himself. We shared a moment of awkward staring until I realised he meant to jerk off in my parents' bed, which smelled of us. I went as red as any Weasley then waved him away to do what was necessary.

I'll have to burn those sheets. Fortunately they're old ones. I'd packed the nice linens for my mum and dad so they'd wouldn't have to buy everything new when they got to Australia. I couldn't shove them onto a plane with nothing. I wasn't banishing them. Stupidly sentimental.

I made minestrone. Molly makes cooking look easy. Ron likes home style food so I figured I should make the attempt. We wouldn't be eating at the Burrow every night. No one should consume that much shepherd's pie.

Malfoy returned fully dressed and moderately relaxed while I was chopping carrots. Years of Professor Snape being pedantic about ingredient preparation had given me the knife skills of a chef.

“So what would you be doing if you weren't being a pain in my arse?” I asked as he sat to stare at me being precise about dicing.

“Arguing with goblins.” He sounded morose and I couldn't blame him. Bill had endless stories about banking drama. My favourite was when an obnoxious wizard threatened to close his account. The goblins called his bluff then made him sign out each and every Galleon in his vault. It had taken weeks.

“There's an advocacy group to help people who had their accounts confiscated during the war. You technically qualify.” I might've been more reluctant to mention the service except I had been told that as I had voluntarily closed my account I would have to wait in the queue to have it reopened. Which was fair enough, except Zacharias Smith had smirked at me when he said it. “Smith's one of the assistants.”

“I never liked him.” That was hardly surprising. Zacharias was always quick to look down upon anyone not socially secure. The Hufflepuff badly wanted to be part of the power group but being too proud to toady he was left to ingratiate himself by family name alone. Neither brave nor smart nor ambitious, he was a default Badger.

“He's being very socially conscious now. A lot of people saw him barging to the front of the line during the evacuation. That muck requires a lot of spadework to shift.” Smith had been very pleased not to cater to my reputation so he could be seen to be fair.

“You know how to keep a grudge.” Malfoy smirked quite a different smirk to Smith's prissy conceit.

“I cherish the ones I have.” I answered cheerfully, dumping the carrot into the soup pot. “Smith won't help you but then you can put in a complaint about him. He's got to be pretty close to the limit for compulsory review.”

“You're beautiful when you're conniving.” The compliment got a scowl. He just smiled at me, one corner of his mouth twisting up as though he'd scored a point or something.

“Go on, start complimenting my hair.” I didn't believe him. I don't think I'm ugly. In fact, I scrub up quite well. But as accolades go, being beautiful isn't something I particularly value.

“You have a lot of it.” Malfoy wasn't foolish enough to try to sweet-talk me. He watched as I chopped, not asking why I didn't use magic. Then again, he'd listened to as many lectures from Snape on preparation as I had. It was funny to think I'd known him for almost half my life.

I'd almost finished the soup when an owl arrived. The huge animal tapped imperiously on the kitchen window, topaz eyes glaring. It beaked at me when I let it in and dropped a letter beside Malfoy before regarding me like the staff. I took the hint and got it some owl treats.

Malfoy read the letter while the owl ate then perched on the back of one of the chairs. I fussed around tidying up. Soup is always better on the next day so I could still make something for lunch without looking obsessive.

I'd decided on grilling some fish, telling myself that no matter how much fish we'd eaten while living rough I still liked it. With butter and chives. Or maybe olive oil and a bit of salt given I wanted to eat it with the Caesar salad. It was wonderful to have the choice.

“The Greengrasses have broken the betrothal.” Malfoy's voice intruded on my internal menu. He handed me the letter. I hesitated. This was a lot more personal than I wanted. “Just read the fucking thing.”

“You swear a lot.”

“I had to bite my tongue for years, watching every word. I'll fucking swear now if I want.” He said, just on the angry side of petulant. I read the letter.

The Greengrass family and I were not well acquainted but even I could tell from the overly formal language that they were cutting their losses. A Death Eater groom was probably inevitable for a Slytherin family but a Death Eater Veela who wanted to mate with a Muggle-born was too much.

“Prats.” I wanted to call them worse but this wasn't my fight. That was a wonderful choice too. I didn't have to fight every skirmish any more.

“Inevitable. It's unlikely I could get it up for Astoria anyway.” He crumpled the letter and incinerated it. The owl hooted reproachfully at him.

“It wants a reply. You have to send something as a bald courtesy.” That prod was automatic. I'd have nudged Harry or Ron the same way. Habit of nagging was hard to break. Malfoy glowered at me but he went upstairs to compose a few polite lies.

I put off cooking the fish until he returned, instead trying my hand at cupcakes. My mum wasn't much of a baker but she had a dozen recipes for muffins and the like. I picked something basic; a vanilla butter cream.

When Malfoy returned missive in hand, I was theoretically icing the cupcakes. Melted chocolate covered most of the countertop and myself and some of the floor but only a little of the cupcakes. I had given up on the piping bag to default to the dip dunk method. He ate one of the few tidy ones.

“You could at least eat one of my mistakes.” I thrust a dribbled cupcake at him. He took it then licked the icing off my hand. Lightning seemed to shoot up my arm to earth itself in my crux. That trembly precursor shiver before orgasm fluttered through me as he sucked my fingers.

No.

Nope.

Hell no.

I slapped him. Maybe not as hard as I could have but there was a sharp noise that cleared my head. The rush from contact made my nerves sing.

“On your knees!” I hissed. I didn't know what I was planning. I just wanted him cowed so I could stop panting. Malfoy knelt, tucking his feet under him, straight back like a meditating monk.

“I apologise.” He told the tiled floor.

“Did I say I wanted you to speak?” I snapped. I washed my hands thoroughly in cold water. Bastard was making it hard on both of us. I grimaced at the innuendo in my own mind. He didn't see. His eyes were lowered. Sure, be demure now you'd lit the fire.

I wanted to hit him. That urge was born of my own frustration so I ignored it. We weren't in Third Year any more. But he wasn't going to get away with trying to seduce me. I was the one with the power here.

So I used it. I paced around behind him, leaning down to whisper in his ear. I told him he had disobeyed a direct order and that he would be punished. I told him I could send him back to his mother to suffer but that I wouldn't because I was kind.

I also told him that I wasn't going to sleep with him. I wasn't going to slowly unbutton his shirt and caress my fingers down his chest. I wasn't going to kiss my way down his neck, following the pulse points so I could feel his heart skip a beat for me.

I told him I wouldn't strip him, cup him, stroke him or make him ache for me. I wouldn't rub myself against him so his skin had my scent. I wouldn't bite him or mark him in any way. I wouldn't take my clothes off piece by piece to tease him or let him watch as I pleasured myself.

He was sweating by the time I was telling him how I wouldn't invite him into the shower to soap me or see my skin go pink in the steam. He'd screwed his eyes shut and had hunched forward trying to hide his burgeoning erection as I described exactly how he wouldn't be allowed to lie under me as I rode him. That I wouldn't let him feel how hot I was or how tight I could be for the right man.

Because he wasn't the right man and I was going to punish him. He came when I said that, spilling himself in his trousers as he knelt on my parents' kitchen floor.

I sent him upstairs to clean up. When he was gone I poured myself a glass of cold water and tried not to think about what I had done. I finished icing the cupcakes.


	4. Glut

I cleaned the house. The whole house. Without magic. I had so much damn energy I even shifted the fridge to sweep behind it. I was on the doorstep eyeing the windows when I noticed a man sitting at the bus stop across the street.

It was a free country so he could wear a tweed coat if he wanted. He could also wear a deerstalker hat. I shut the front door and crossed the road, sitting down on the bench. I had an excellent view of my parents' home.

I glanced at his feet. He was wearing spats. He looked a little embarrassed when I shook my head at him.

“I thought I blended in rather well. The magazine said it was de rigueur for gentlemen during the day to wear a frock coat.”

“I expect that magazine was rather vintage.” About 1920s vintage, I guessed from the splatterdashes. I wasn't an expert on historical fashion and I was trying not to be irritated by the surveillance. “Who sent you?”

“Official Ministry oversight. For your protection.” He admitted. “Sorry.”

I nodded, muttered something accepting and returned home. I didn't protest or demand he bugger off because it wasn't his fault I was being spied on. And if Malfoy lost control I might be grateful for reinforcements. I didn't have to like it.

I went upstairs, vaguely expecting Malfoy to be in bed or sulking. He wasn't. He was at my father's desk in the spare room writing and shuffling through scrolls. He looked up when I peeked around the door.

“I should be thankful for your filthy imagination.” He even sounded chipper, the old sneer in full force. “Clever of you to find a way to get me off without touching me. The Veela needs intimate contact, not necessarily sexual congress.”

“The Veela isn't some possessing spirit puppetting you.” I objected to the disassociation. It sounded like he was trying to parcel off responsibility for his actions. My observation got a smirk.

“I thought that phrasing would be more palatable to your fragile sensibilities.” He was staring again, this time at my chest. There was still quite a bit of longing in that look but he was enough of his prattish self that there was also an undertone of provocation. He was trying to annoy me. It worked.

“Keep your eyes to yourself, Malfoy.” I ordered. It was definitely an order. I didn't have to put up with his ogling.

“I was merely considering how much your breasts would fill out when you were nursing our child.” I wanted to slap the smirk off his pointy ferret face.

“You sat up here and thought about that, didn't you? Nicely calculated to get a rise out of me.” I tried to sound cold. I probably didn't succeed. Lions roared. They didn't hiss or spit venom. I doubted I could out Slytherin him so I opted for being catty. “Well, consider this, any mini-Malfoy you think you'll get on me will be born with red hair. Bright red Weasley hair.”

That got him out of his chair, towering over me, teeth bared. The way his shadow moved on the wall, I could almost see wings. If he wanted to play this game, I had seven years of vicious taunts to avenge.

“You won't!” He shouted, reaching out to grab me. I held up a finger. He stilled, his chest heaving.

“Temper, temper, Malfoy.” I waggled my finger in a scold. “That is not the way to convince me to birth your pasty brats.” I glared at him. Now, glares I could do. Professor McGonagall taught an advanced class in staunch disapproval. “Besides, what you want is a nice inbred nitwit who will swoon over your Manor, right?”

“Yes.” He hissed through his teeth. “A pure-blood girl who respects our traditions and culture.”

“Good. So no more talk of our children. Whatever the weird Veela genetics that have you in heat, you aren't going to be slaking it with me.”

“Because you want little Weasels.” He was still biting his words, his nostrils flaring as though he was scenting the air. Humans don't have a vomeronasal organ to detect pheromones but true Veela do. The behaviour was evidently instinctive.

“Maybe.” I had thought about it. I do want kids. Not a horde of them. Maybe two or three depending on the financial situation. I want to be able to take time off work and stay home without having to worry about money. Equally, I wanted to go back to my job once the baby was weaned. I anticipated that being a sticking point with Ron as Molly's job had been entirely domestic. We hadn't talked about it.

If I were to be honest, we hadn't talked about the future at all. Our future. Ron wanted time as much as I did. His gallantry at the hospital had been fifty/fifty Gryffindor instinct and fondness. We loved each other. I was sure of that.

But I wanted to be courted. We knew each other so well it got in the way. The time apart while I was at Hogwarts and he was doing Auror training was a godsend. We had to start building a romantic relationship from scratch or we'd miss things, assume things and go back to old habits of arguing and storming off.

Plus, I absolutely couldn't do any of that while the cold sea scent distracted me from everything. When Ron had hugged me at St Mungo's I'd felt nothing. I could've been hugging Arthur. I resented it.

“Such mad passion, Granger.” The sarcasm didn't sting me.

“Tell me about your arranged marriage to a schoolgirl, Malfoy. The one from the family with a lot of daughters to sell off.” I wasn't going to take his attitude. Whatever Ron and I had together it was infinitely better than some cold-blooded dynastic pairing.

“Why do you say my name like that? Like it's a curse?”

His question was a demand. There was a sneer too. But I heard something underneath, something raw that I didn't want to know. Malfoy was immensely proud of his family name and its august heritage. The battering it had taken this last generation cut him deep. I heard that pain. I wasn't sure he wanted me to.

“Mudblood.” I said simply. “You taught me how to jeer, how to hurt people. How to speak poniards.” I quoted the Bard but he didn't understand that either. “Whatever elitist nonsense you've been fed about your family, all I've seen is your spite and your father's...” I cut myself off. Lucius Malfoy was in Azkaban. There was nothing I could say that would make that situation worse. “I used to wonder if he beat you.”

I saw it. I saw Malfoy hide his flinch. The flicker of expression was gone in an instant but I'd seen similar tells from Harry when he talked about the Dursleys. Whatever showed on my face offended him. He didn't say anything but his eyes narrowed and he did that thing with his shoulders like he was putting on armour. Girding himself in steel.

I blinked.

I looked him up and down. I'd seen something. Just for a second, there had been something there. I didn't get a good look at it, probably not even enough to Pensieve but I was sure there'd been a ripple of something.

I left. I went to my room to do some research. I know how often people laugh at me for checking books but it's saved my life, Harry's life, lives in general countless times. So I looked up Veela transformations while trying to decide what it actually was that I'd noticed.

It could've been just a trick of the light but that sort of soothing self-delusion was denied to me as a witch. Every effect had a cause.

I heard an owl arrive and leave. Probably that snooty feather duster who had delivered the betrothal cancellation. I ignored it. My own owls always came to the kitchen window as there was a nice perch there where they could rest.

I read for a couple of hours, chasing down anything that might have explained that silvery sheen. I didn't find anything concrete. It was most likely a manifestation of his aura. Regardless of Arthur's warning, I didn't find it particularly alluring. The most I could ascribe to it was a vague tingling in my nethers, which was nothing compared to the other embarrassing reactions I had to Malfoy.

I went downstairs to pace around my parents' very clean house and tried to convince myself I wasn't already thinking about just getting it over with. I cast a Cooling Charm because I was in control and I was going to bloody stay in control.

I sat down at the kitchen table and dealt with some of my mum and dad's correspondence. It was quite difficult to just disappear in an industrialised country. Taxes followed you. Paper accumulated. I had to check everything in case any mention of me was there. My parents would certainly query having a dependent listed on their tax forms when they were permanently and certainly convinced they did not have a child.

I've never hated being a witch before. I loathed my magic, loathed myself when the Healer who'd come all the way to Australia with me confirmed what I'd feared. My parents' memories of me were gone. I'd done a very thorough job of obliterating myself.

There's almost no data on reversing memory charms in Muggles. It's a violation of the Statute of Secrecy and a security risk and, though no one has ever said so to my face, not really a priority. No one has ever told me I'm free now to live my life in the magical world unfettered by the inconvenience of Muggle family. But I'd bet they've thought it.

So I'm tidying up the remnants of my mum and dad's life in England. I'll sell the house and send them the money, pretending to be an estate agent. They've queried a couple of times about the delay in the sale. A slow property market has been helpful but eventually I'll have to cut all ties.

I'm almost there now. Most of their mail is redirected automatically and the last fiddly things are proceeding at speed of bureaucracy. Soon I'll be an orphan. I'll hardly be the only one. Harry and I have talked about starting a little club, a social group to act as a safety net so we don't all sink into our own misery.

I wipe away my tears because there's no way Malfoy is going to find me crying over superannuation statements. Most of the time I can ignore it. I have to admit to myself I spent years lying to my parents. I put the distance there. Sending them away for their own safety was just one more shove.

I got up to cook something. Not that I'm obsessed. I've been very firm with myself about not buying another chest freezer. I just need to do something with my hands. And I never did grill that fish.

I was tossing up whether inviting Bill and Fleur over would be a good idea. We're not especially close but with what we've been through that doesn't matter. And I'd like to talk to them about the Veela issue.

And having a Weasley report to Molly that I'm not flat on my back under Malfoy would be a good idea.

On the other hand, I don't really trust Malfoy to behave himself unless I crack the whip. He didn't seem to object to what had happened in the kitchen. His filthy mind comment was pro forma. I could readily believe he was relieved I didn't have to touch him.

I was standing in the kitchen with a frying pan in my hand when Malfoy intruded on my musings. He still had that garbed for war stance. I felt my fingers tighten on the pan handle. I liked him much better on his knees.

“Did my father ever hurt you?” He asked, doubly bluntly. Not at all what I expected and no prevarication. And I didn't think he was talking about Lucius looking down his nose at me in a bookshop.

“No.” Did he relax? Maybe. He was so tightly locked down it was difficult to judge. “Not that I know of. Your aunt had a go but it was Dolohov who cursed me in the Department of Mysteries.”

“I thought, from what you said. When you hesitated.” He tried to clarify then faltered. Malfoy was certainly not glib when it came to talking about his feelings. Unless they involved what he kept in his pants.

“I thought he was an abusive father. I've never been on the receiving end of his wand or his cane. But I've seen him jab you.” If he'd asked, I would've said I didn't care. I did care. Wasn't prepared to admit it, though.

“He was strict.” The words came out stilted. His eyes dropped from my face to my stomach and I knew, I just knew what he was going to say next. “I won't be like him to my children.”

Yep. And that told me all I needed to know about Lucius's parenting skills. Bastard. Malfoy wouldn't speak ill of his father to me, a Mudblood, but there was plenty there to be ill about.

I grilled the fish with garlic and lemon. Malfoy read the Guardian, asking random questions about Muggle geopolitics. He seemed to think most of it was an elaborate practical joke. Look at what the trained monkeys can do.

We ate dinner at the dining table because apparently only peasants eat in the kitchen. He put away a lot of food but at a more sedate pace this time. I handed him the vitamins I'd picked up at the chemist, which he took only after I assured him that unlike the Vitamix potion the pills wouldn't interfere with whatever he was already taking.

Malfoy went to bed early. I cleared the dishes and washed them by hand. The menial task helped me stay connected with reality. My reality, at least. Living at the Burrow was still slightly surreal for me. As magical beings, we had near limitless power but we seemed to fritter it away on ordinary things.

Like reports. Which I read on the sofa despite the siren lure of Malfoy. When I couldn't concentrate on work despite two Cooling Charms, I had a very cold shower. When all that did was chill my skin and not extinguish the heat between my legs I took matters into my own hands.

I've had better orgasms but the climax seemed to take the edge off. I braided my hair, something I always do when sharing a bed so my curls don't try to strangle whoever is sleeping with me, then dried off.

I took a moment to inspect myself. I looked better than I had when I last checked. The scar on my arm was still red and would likely remain so. The one on my neck had seamed but still itched. Dolohov's curse hadn't left a mark on my skin but underneath it there was still faint purplish smudge like a bruise. That'd last a while too, according to Madam Pomfrey.

Everything else was in pretty good nick. I'd filled out again. I couldn't count my ribs any more. Maybe a bit more curve than I'd had before going horcux hunting. Probably should start a fitness program of some sort as my job is sedentary and Molly believes butter is a food group.

I got dressed for bed and joined Malfoy under the blanket. He'd sprawled out over most of the mattress so I nudged him onto his side. He curled up obligingly. He was rather cute when he wasn't being an arse.

I slept well. I drifted awake gracefully. No creaking stairs. No chatter in the hallways. No Ginny sneaking into our room to make a token effort at pretending she'd slept there.

Instead I had Malfoy coiled around me, his head pillowed on my shoulder. I nudged him but this time all I got was a sleepy grumble and more cuddle. Sleeping with Ron was like sharing a bed with a furnace. Malfoy seemed to steal all the heat from me. He was like a snake basking. I nudged him again.

“Malfoy, let go. I have to pee.” That seemed to penetrate or my elbow had triggered a rolling reflex because he released me and flopped over onto his other side.

I went to the bathroom then swallowed today's contraceptive pill and brushed my teeth. I felt great. Which given it was almost 11am shouldn't surprise me. I squinted at the face of the clock. I had read it correctly the first time. Slugabed me.

Malfoy was still dozing so I went downstairs. There were several disgruntled owls waiting for me. I let them in, accepted their correspondence and doled out treats lavishly.

Percy had sent me everything he could find on the laws pertaining to Veela mates. His precise handwritten was perfectly legible. I simply couldn't believe what I was reading. Most of the legislation was written with a pseudo-Victorian coyness that made me want to blaspheme.

I wrote back, asking him to get me a full copy of the statutes and the names of anyone well-versed in their interpretation. Once I read 'should a maiden be inflamed by the person of a Veela, her guardian should ensure she yields in a seemly manner' I knew I needed a good solicitor.

Malfoy's owl arrived as I was writing a note to Ron and Harry, and Molly because she'd read it over their shoulders, to let them know everything was fine. The bird's opinion of my owl treats clearly remained low but it dropped a thick scroll for Malfoy.

I sent my letters off and took the ferret's post up to him as it had a Ministry seal. It looked important so I prodded him with it. He woke eventually, sneered at me then opened the scroll. I took my clothes into the bathroom and had a shower having belatedly realised I smelled like him.

When I emerged, Malfoy looked more than usually smug. I gave him a cautionary glare then headed downstairs to find something for lunch. His Smugness joined me after he'd washed, gracing the kitchen with his bespoke suit and tie.

“Aren't we fancy this morning.” I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

“I thought I should dress for the occasion.” He sat at the counter, helping himself to an apple from the fruit bowl. “For the first time in months I can think clearly. I will go to Gringotts and ruin Smith's day.”

“I see I'm a moderating influence.” I heated soup and sliced bread. Malfoy smirked.

“I prefer to think of you as a concubine. I can't really call you a courtesan in those terrible clothes.” He bit into the apple, definitely a snake in my Eden.

“Keep talking and I'll have you leaving here with a tent in your pants. Bit hard, ha ha, to talk to goblins with a stiffy at their eye height.” I smirked right back at him.


	5. Aperatif

Percy may have his flaws but you ask him to get something done and he jumps right to it. He had sent me everything on Veela the Ministry had ever enacted. I was at the kitchen table slogging through the legalese when Malfoy Apparated into the backyard.

He reached the French doors, fiddled with the handle then just stood there resting his head against the glass. I got up to let him in and he almost fell into my arms, shaking. He clutched at me like a drowning man, burying his face in my hair.

Right. Sensible kicked in. I shut and locked the door. I got an arm around him then navigated us upstairs like I was putting a drunk friend to bed. I've had a certain amount of practise doing that.

Malfoy was shivering and when I got his jacket off I saw why. His shirt was soaked with clammy sweat, literally sticking to his skin. I took him into the bathroom and stripped him, putting him in the shower. Whatever Veela induced lust the sight of his glistening alabaster skin sparked in me ran second to honest concern.

I washed his face. The warm water seemed to relax him. He stopped trembling at least. I rinsed him down, keeping the ogling to a minimum, then pulled him out of the shower and dried him with a quick spell.

I took off my t-shirt. That got his attention. I was wearing my least alluring bras and I gave him the shirt with a terse order to put it on. He sniffed it, holding the fabric to his nose to inhale my scent before doing what he was told. It didn't cover enough.

“Got to get you some trousers.” I tried to remember if I'd put on new pyjamas last night. Lending him the clothes I had on was one thing. Lending him jammies I'd been too lazy to wash for a week was another.

“I could wear yours.” He said faintly, eyes tracking over my legs.

“Manners, Malfoy, or I'll make you wear my knickers too.” I found my shortie pyjamas and handed them to him. They fit around the waist with the drawstring but were comically short.

“Kinky.” Was all he said as I towed him towards the bed. He let me tuck him in, watching with lidded eyes as I swapped my jeans for a pair of sleep pants. I was definitely going to have to do some laundry.

When I got under the covers, he waited. I put my arms out, inviting him in and he snuggled against me like a lost child. I smoothed a hand through his hair. He has lovely hair, which I was never going to admit in company.

“All the people?” I asked, having recognised the signs of a panic attack.

“Yes.” He nodded against my chest. “Pathetic. Weak.”

“You're not.” I said against his self-recrimination. “The response is biological. It's what happens when your psyche wars with your instincts. We're animals. When we're frightened, we run. Sensible survival response. Not running, over and over when our body screams at us to flee, is what causes this.”

“Says the heroine.” He muttered, rubbing his face against my sternum. My nipples could've cut glass. I was so aware of every touch. I kept talking, taking refuge in a lecture.

“I get them. Harry and Ron get them. Even Neville's had a few episodes, and he's a rock.” I rubbed his back. After finding out what Hogwarts had been like under the Carrows, I had a new respect for anyone who had endured that. And Neville had kept the DA going in spite of Unforgivables in the classrooms.

I heard the growl Malfoy gave in reply to my admiration of my Housemate. I tightened my grip on his hair, pulling his head up to look at me even as I continued to smooth soothing circles across his shoulder blades.

“I like Neville. I don't like you. Keep your territorial urges to yourself.” He looked down when I scolded him. His arms went slack around me as though he expected me to push him away. I didn't. After a moment, he lifted his eyes to meet mine.

“Please.” Was all he said.

He wasn't asking me to fuck him. He wasn't asking for anything. He was begging me to give him something. I cursed my own compassionate nature. I didn't owe him anything. I should shove him off on his mother and let her deal with his medical condition. I didn't have to do a damn thing.

I took one of his hands and wove my fingers through his. I began rubbing slowly up and down his chest, easing back a little so my breasts didn't rub against him. If he looked, he'd see how aroused I was but his eyes closed as I touched him.

I don't know how long we lay there, me guiding his hand over his own body. I do know that when I slipped our fingers under the waistband of his pyjamas I wasn't thinking about anything. I was just there, with him in an endless moment.

He was already stiff when I brushed my fingers against his pale curls. I pushed the pants down, freeing him, putting his own hand on his erection so I wouldn't have been lying when I said I wouldn't stroke him. But my hand was on his and I set the pace.

His head lolled against my chest, his lips rubbing against one of my nipples through the cotton of my bra. I let him but I didn't take the bra off. He wasn't going to get any more of me.

It seemed to be enough. More than enough. Even going slow, I soon had him arching against the bed, moaning. I hesitated once, taking my hand away, leaving him shaking in my arms again. His eyes opened, pupils dilated until his irises looked eclipses with just a bright annulus of silver.

“Ask me.” I said softly.

“Please.” His voice was barely more than a breath. “Please, please let me cum.”

I put my hand back on his and let him.

I cleaned him up afterwards, tucking him away in his borrowed pyjamas. There weren't enough Cooling Charms in the world to ease what I was feeling but I didn't push him away. I held him until he drifted into sleep then I wriggled out of his grasp to have a shower.

Again cold. Again taking care of myself with my own hands, after making sure to lock the door and cast a Muffling Charm. Stupid crowds of people freaking him out. There'd probably been muttered insults too. Malfoy would've been too proud to let them see his weakness.

So he had come home to me for comfort.

And I'd given it to him because I am too soft-hearted for my own good. I thumped my head against the tiles to see if I could knock some sense into myself. No noticeable effect.

I got dressed, picked up my dirty clothes basket and went downstairs to do the laundry. And think. While the washing machine did its business, I sat outside in the fresh air.

If I was going to sell the house, I should probably do something about the garden. My parents had pottered about in it when the whim took them. Anything that survived an absent summer was allowed to flourish. The lilac shrub by the back fence was more a lilac tree and the small shed was anonymous under wisteria.

I could get the lawnmower and clippers out but I was realistic. I liked looking at gardens more than maintaining them. I put a Notice-Me-Not on myself then started pruning with magic.

I found a lawn chair lost to the nasturtiums and an old picnic basket forgotten by an overgrown patch of crazy paving Dad had always meant to finish. I tidied up the edges then made a curvy sort of path to the back door.

I got a lot of gardening done while not dealing with my problems. Displacement activity was one of the reasons I was so tidy. I needed to do something while avoiding thinking about what was bothering me. Before the crying or punching stages.

I had to let this house go. I had to let my parents go. I could think of them as retired happily in Australia getting on with their lives as I got along with mine. Not gone, just distant. That might've happened even without the Obliviate. There was so much of my life they couldn't share.

Trying to convince myself it wasn't my fault I was an orphan would take longer than one grubby afternoon. The decision had been made. I would have to live with it. I had a place in the wizarding world. I had a job and friends and some sort of weird Slytherin boytoy.

Malfoy surprised the dickens out of me when he came out a couple of hours later still in my pyjamas with two cups of tea. Magically brewed, the taste was different, but welcome. I sipped and surveyed my efforts.

“It's small.” He said to his cup.

“It's suburbia. It'd be even smaller closer in to the city.” I wasn't resentful I hadn't grown up with rolling acres of Wiltshire to lord over. “I'm going to sell the house.” If I told someone else I was going to do it then I'd be obliged to follow through.

“Your parents' home?” Clearly selling real estate was a foreign concept to the gentry.

“They're not coming back.” It was easier to say than I thought it would be. I'd shut down the topic with a clang only days before. “I sent them there so it's up to me to clean up here.”

He didn't say anything to that and I was grateful. I drained my cup and thought I'd probably done enough. I'd get a realtor to look over the property to see if there was anything else to primp.

“How long do you think you'll be able to resist me?” There was so much smug in his voice I regretted having finished my tea otherwise I would've thrown it in his face.

“Long enough.” I gritted my teeth.

“And if I don't imprint on someone else?” At least he didn't sound like Ron suggesting I just get pregnant to sort this out, but the suggestion was there unspoken. I wonder if they, two pure-blood wizards, can hear how desperate they sound. If they understand how much they've internalised the idea their world was diminishing.

“Then you and I will have many long years of BDSM. I might even get some vinyl thigh boots and a whip, go the full dominatrix. That'd keep you in your place.” I chose those last words deliberately and nodded when he expression shifted.

He didn't like hearing that. Who did? But I'd copped it from him and others like him for years. We might be in this together but I was in charge and we were going to do it my way.

“You hate the idea of touching me so much?” His voice was so cold I could hear the 'mudblood' at the end of the question.

“I've touched you, Malfoy. I've punched you. I've played with your hair. I could probably even endure it to shake your hand. I think what you're really asking is why don't I want to have sex with you.” I was clinical because not letting him see me flinch was old habit. “That's simple. I don't share myself with people who don't respect me.”

“And the Weasel does?” Vitriol now, and a certain amount of jealousy. I looked at him, saw how much he hated being so open and I shrugged.

“I don't know yet. That's what he and I are trying to figure out. We respect each other as friends and as comrades-in-arms but being lovers is something more serious.” I wasn't sure where Ron and I stood. Not because I didn't love him or he didn't love me but because we'd seen a great deal of life in a short time and both needed time to decompress.

I did wonder, very privately, whether Ron and I needed to see other people. I'd watched Ginny and Harry be so caught up in each other that the world almost ceased to exist. I didn't want that. I needed my space. And Ron needed to find himself as something more than the sixth son or the third of a trio.

“What would it take?” I almost missed the question he spoke so quietly. When he saw he had my attention, he repeated himself more clearly. “What would it take for me to prove to you that you have my respect?”

“A Time-Turner.” My first, thoughtless reply brought his hauteur back full force. I thrust my tea cup at him. He took it and when both of his hands were full, I stepped closer. The cold sea scent, the dark water turbulent and deep, called to me like the Rime of the Ancient Mariner. “Time.” I said, my lips ghosting across his. “On my terms.”

“Why won't you just give me what we want?” He moaned, eyes screwed shut.

“Because I don't actually get off in having you dance attendance on me.” I was playing with fire now. Somewhere in the back of my mind I was warning myself this wasn't a good idea. Unfortunately, I wasn't listening to that little voice. “I've never wanted a slave. I can do this because it is safer for both of us. Giving an addict his drug hurts him in the long run.”

“I'm not.” He protested. I shook my head.

“You are. And you want this so much you're willing to convince yourself that you like it.” I put my hand flat on his stomach, on the gap of pale skin between my shirt and pyjama bottoms. I felt him react. “I could make you do anything. I could train you like a dog. Is that really what you want for your future? You said you didn't want me leading you around by your dick.”

“Everything wouldn't be my fault, then.” Malfoy whispered. I only heard it because I was so near him. “I've fucked up so much. Failed at everything.” He looked at me, storm grey eyes dark. “You beat me. You won.”

“What happened to this morning's Malfoy? He was ready to take on the world.” I tried to cheer him up because I am literally that daft.

“I had to stand in line.” He muttered, leaning into me as I traced my fingers over his belly button then up following the indentation of his abdominal muscles. He'd been flying a lot. It tones your core as you need to balance yourself. “I've never had to stand in line before. With everyone watching and jeering at me.”

“Did you meet with the goblins?” I couldn't say I was very sympathetic with him being forced to queue like a pleb but I could understand his reaction. And no one liked being stared at. I can feel people's eyes crawling over me like flies on meat.

“They graciously allowed me to make an appointment to come back tomorrow.” He snarled a little with that comment. My presence really did revitalise him. It was a pity it revived him into being an arse.

“I'll go in with you. I need to do some banking.” I slid my hand out from under his shirt and put my arms somewhat more chastely around him. He was a good height to hug. I could tuck myself into the hollow of his shoulder without head-butting his chin.

“Taking your pet for a walk?” He laughed bitterly, a familiar sound to me. I wondered if he'd ever chuckled or simply found something honestly amusing. How deep did the cynicism go?

“If you were my pet, I'd order you to be happier about it.” I let go of him. There was only so much I was prepared to put up with and he'd just reached my limit. If he wasn't prepared to work with me then I wasn't going to drag him. “Thanks for the tea.”

I went inside and had a quick rinse in the spare bathroom to get the dirt off me. Malfoy would've doubtless said it was a Sisyphean task. He could go to Hell. Or Hades, to continue the allusion. Jeans and a t-shirt and some more research suited me just fine.

I was in the middle of an erratically translated Bulgarian text dealing with ritual protections against Veela and other sirens when Malfoy intruded. He marched into the living room and sat on the sofa beside me, keeping a virtuous cushion between us. He had a book, probably much less frustrating than mine, which he began to read.

We were quiet together for several chapters and I was on the point of asking him if he knew a good translation spell for Cyrillic scripts when someone Apparated into the backyard. I will cheerfully admit I am paranoid. I had my wand out before I put my book down to investigate.

It was Ron, looking well scrubbed, with one of Molly's steak and kidney pies. He waved nonchalantly as though he was passing by chance and thought I might like some baked goods. I let him in despite Malfoy's hiss.

“Hey, 'Mione.” He said, glancing around as though he expected to see my lingerie strewn across the kitchen. “Mum thought you might like something for dinner.”

Ron is as well aware as I am of my over-cooking habit. I regularly take food to Grimmauld Place and to Andromeda when I baby-sit Teddy. So the pie was a specious excuse to check up on me. And he knew it, as he'd made an effort to look good.

I was about to express my thanks and shoo him out the door when Ron noticed Malfoy was in my pyjamas. I knew the exact moment he realised the clothes were mine because an angry blush started at his neck and climbed north.

“What the bloody Hell is he doing in your shorts?” The demand and the shoving of the pie onto the counter so he could draw his wand conveyed Ron's displeasure amply.

“He lost a bet.” I lied. I was already under surveillance from the Ministry. I didn't need Molly sending Ron to spy on me. And I'd meant what I'd said to Malfoy in the hospital. Whatever this was, it was between us and only us.

“What bet?” Another demand but I'd cut off his steam before he worked himself into a tantrum. Ron isn't as jealous as Ginny. However, he defends what he thinks is his as doggedly as his Patronus.

“I wagered Malfoy couldn't resist being a prat for an hour. He was making rude comments about the newspaper.” Which he had done reading the Guardian. I didn't like lying to Ron. However, he was not going to be reasonable about anything concerning Malfoy.

“What would he have got if he'd won?” Ron took a deep breath. He knows he has a temper and he tries not to take it out of me as doing so inevitably causes a fight.

“Granger in my pyjamas.” Malfoy answered smoothly. “Grey silk. I expect she's never had it so good.” The sneer settled any doubt Ron might've had and prompted him to level a wand at Malfoy.

“Just as well you're a shite, Ferret.” He dropped his arm when I stepped between them. I asked with reasonable sincerity if he wanted to stay for dinner, which he did.

Malfoy stalked upstairs leaving us to share the pie at the kitchen table. Ron calmed down once he was gone so I broached, carefully, him leaving me to sort out the Slytherin problem by myself.

“He's difficult enough as it is. I'm trying to calm him down, which was sort of working. Now he'll be his usual obnoxious self.” I didn't blame Ron for being suspicious. We had cause.

“I don't like it.” Stubborn chin and a complaint. He wasn't going to listen tonight. I'd send him an owl tomorrow asking again rather than try to push the point.

“Neither do I.” I ate my pie. It was a very nice pie. Ron didn't try to kiss me, I expect he'd talked to Fleur, and he left as soon as we finished. I brought a plate up for Malfoy anticipating stubbornness from him too.

He was reading in bed and eyed the slice of pie with disdain. He ate it though. I went downstairs, retrieved my book and joined him, grabbing more pillows from my bed en route. Malfoy sniffed when I sat down but made no comment. I thought I'd dodged a confrontation, until it was time to sleep.

I had just brushed my teeth and left the bathroom to change when I saw a pair of Malfoy's pyjamas neatly laid out on my side of the bed. He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me, not touching but enclosing.

“I behaved.” He said, softly into my ear. His lips didn't touch me either. “I think I deserve a reward. I even ate his mother's cooking.”

“You were hungry. You're as thin as you were in Sixth Year.” Which was not the right thing to say, the detached thing to say, because he smiled.

“Ogling me even then, Granger?” His body heat made me almost unbearably warm. And wet. Which pissed me off.

“I get to say when you deserve a reward, Malfoy.” I snapped and stepped out of his grasp. “Turn around.” He did. I contemplated the pyjamas. They were silk. And he hadn't thrown a fit over Ron's visit. I put the damn things on. Salt and citrus.


	6. Quench

His hands ghost over my breasts, his palms teasing my nipples until they harden. He is naughty. I will allow him this. I slide my hand down his chest, raking my nails lightly over his skin until I reach the nest of pale hair between his legs. I twine my fingers through his curls, touching so close to where he wants my hand to be he groans.

Serves him right for teasing. He learns his lesson and puts his tongue on my left nipple, licking like a cat. Better. Still teasing but I forgive him when he bends his head to suckle. I'm so hot. And wet. I want to something but it's forgotten now. I kiss my way along his jaw line then downwards until my teeth are at his neck.

When I bite him he groans again and rubs himself against my hand. I know he wants me to touch him. Maybe I will. Or maybe I'm tired of his teasing. I push him away, onto his back and straddle him. I know what I want. This is something, right? This is what I want?

It's what he wants. He makes a keening noise like a wounded animal. I rub myself against him, wet heat to hardness. Yes. This is. No. Something isn't right. I shift a little, crouching over him and he pushes his hips up, uniting us. Yes, that is good. He's where he should be.

But I haven't. He's gentle but the intrusion isn't. Not pain. I've been touched there before. Not by him. I don't know whether to rise or sink down. The feeling is right?

His hands are on my breasts and I like that. They're heavy, full, ready. I want something. I need something. I roll my hips maybe that's what it is. He slides in a little more and it feels better. But not. I close my eyes and see the light.

The curtains are open. I blink. I sit up or try to. I'm all turned around, not sure where my legs are between waking and sleeping. I end up on the floor, kneeing the bedside table as I go down. The sharp shock of pain clears my head.

I'm wearing Malfoy's pyjamas. They're soaked, literally wringing with sweat. I get up shakily. He's still out, sprawled, his hands trembling on the bedsheets. His erection juts from under my shorts and I remember the feel of it inside me.

I check. I know it's stupid. I'm wearing pyjama bottoms. He's still dressed too. If we did anything then surely we wouldn't have dressed afterwards. All my buttons are modestly closed. If I managed that half asleep I'm impressed.

As I stare at him, his eyes open. Now we're staring at each other as awkward realisations trickle in. We're both sweating like we've run a marathon. I've got my hand on my crotch trying to feel if I'm tender down here. He's so stiff he's nodding. We share a red-faced moment then flee to separate bathrooms.

I peel off the silk and run cold water over my skin. I shiver, expecting steam to rise from my body. I'm not sore, internally. I don't think anything happened. A vivid dream. My water bill from all the frigid showers is going to be astronomical.

Malfoy's still in the bathroom when I sneak down the hall to my room to get dressed. My breasts are tender. Putting a bra on is penance and rubbing them undoes all the good of the cold shower. I'm really tempted just to get it over with.

I slap myself. I have the door shut and with the en suite shower going Malfoy won't hear. The sting of my palm on my cheek kick-starts my brain. I am in control. No semi-mystical unwanted heritage from a rude acquaintance is going to rule my life.

I'm eating toast in the kitchen when Malfoy deigns to join me. He looks at the empty plate I've left for him at the kitchen table, the ranked jam caddy and the toast rack.

“It's burnt bread, Malfoy. Surely you're familiar with it.” I said behind my hand as I crunched. No one needed to see my breakfast.

“No eggs? Bacon?” He sat down and buttered his toast.

“I need to pick up a few things from Diagon Alley after going to the bank. I plan to go out to lunch. No point having a heavy breakfast.” I was hungry but slightly queasy. The idea of fried anything put me off.

Malfoy looked offended at the sparse catering. When I batted a hand at the kitchen to indicate he could make what he liked, he continued to butter his toast. I expect basic cookery was not a subject offered by his childhood tutors.

We chewed in silence. I felt like I was trapped in an art-house movie. Waiting for the Absurdism or social critique to begin. I put the spreads away when we'd finished the toast. Possibly that was a statement on the futility of bourgeoisie life. I wasn't in the mood for philosophy.

I wasn't in the mood for comments on my clothing choices either. When I headed into the backyard to Apparate, Malfoy looked me up and down.

“Don't even start.” I was wearing jeans and a jumper. I was acceptably dressed for a weekday shopping trip. He shut up, possibly because my tone was more command than request.

We arrived in one of the little parks left vacant for Apparition. Spring had come to Diagon Alley. Charlock and broom bloomed in the wasteground left from demolished buildings. A wych elm was flowering from scorched branches. Rather jaunty, I thought.

I didn't want to put off going to Gringotts as I anticipated it would be frustrating. I wouldn't try to get any help from Zacharias Smith this time. I'd just stand in line and fill in paperwork until my feet and quill hand protested. Muggle banks might be ponderous and usurious but at least they were anxious to get you out of the building.

We walked into the bank and were immediately waved down by Bill Weasley. He strode over, took my arm and not quite hustled us out of sight down a half-lit corridor.

“You're in the paper.” He thrust a copy of the Prophet into my hands. I've given up reading that rag. I work at the Ministry so I have a fairly good idea of what's going on and I'm bloody sick of the gossip that passes for news in what's supposed to be the reputable paper. At least Witch Weekly is honest about being a tabloid.

The headline was one word. Five letters. Starting with 'v' and ending with 'a'. It wasn't viola. I gave Malfoy the Prophet. I didn't care what it said after the florid speculation of the lead paragraph. 

I put my mind to a word game to give my temper time to cool. Smashing the presses in a fit of pique was not the road to long term happiness. Vista. Breathe. I could always emigrate to Antarctica if I wanted privacy. I wouldn't need so many cooling charms there either. Villa. Did I care who had blabbed? Vacua. Yes, I did.

“Any sources named?” I asked Bill as Malfoy was still reading. He shook his head. That was at least something positive. No one had betrayed us. I was running out of words. Vesta, as in a strikeable match, or as a proper noun for the name of the goddess and asteroid. There were probably some more in Latin but I had calmed down now. “Oh well. I wonder how many Howlers I'll get this time.”

“You're fucking blasé about this.” Malfoy snarled, thrusting the paper back at Bill.

“That's because I don't give a damn.” I smiled my best shark's grin, all teeth and bloodymindedness. “This is hardly the first time I've been raked through the muck.”

He wanted to make a quip about Mudbloods. I saw him bite his tongue to keep from speaking. Apparently he could be trained. Mirabile dictu.

“There's an office you can use to meet with one of the tellers.” Bill looked from me to Malfoy then back. I nodded but didn't comment. He might want to know why the Ferret was suddenly quiet but I didn't want to have to lie to him too.

The office was poky. We evidently were not favoured clients. One glance at Malfoy told me how much the snub angered him. He started to clench and unclench his hands, his mouth set in a tight line. Once Bill left us to let the goblin know we were here, I leaned across in my chair to murmur.

“I order you to remember you are a Malfoy. Scion of countless generations of snobs. Such a petty insult as this dingy cupboard cannot offend you.” I wasn't telling him to do anything other than be himself. He smirked and relaxed.

“They could've stuck us in here because of you.” The old sneer was back. He adjusted his tie. God, he was insufferable. And I wanted to screw him on the teller's desk.

“Possibly. Harry, Ron and I did break into Gringotts. Flew out on a dragon. Great fun.” I sighed. I still hated flying. I cast a Cooling Charm, prepared to say the room was stuffy.

He stared at me, evidently not sure if I was joking. But he didn't comment on the charm. Didn't say much of anything while we waited long enough to start worrying we'd been forgotten. I'd packed a book so I started reading while the goblins expressed their displeasure in another passive-aggressive way.

The teller who arrived when I was in the middle of the fifth chapter was well-dressed and fairly young. He looked like he'd been pinned up by his ears but I expect we're just as odd to their aesthetics.

“This should not take long, madam.” He said breezily, surprising me when he spoke to me first. No introductions, minimal formality. We might actually get out of here before lunchtime. “If you sign to accept the key we can have the vaults in your name immediately.”

I picked up a quill and the parchment he proffered. I read carefully. Anyone who didn't read what they signed deserved to be swindled. My parents had drilled that into me after they'd had an awful experience with the lease they had on their first premises.

I didn't shout or exclaim or do anything dramatic. I think the goblin was a little disappointed. He'd probably hoped for a show just to grind it to Malfoy further. This definitely wasn't about me.

“Everything?” I looked through the lists of family vaults, trust vaults, blood sealed vaults I had custody of until my children were old enough, and miscellaneous bequest vaults some of which were a millennium old.

“Except the dower vaults already assigned.” The goblin agreed with a professional smile. With one signature I could beggar the Malfoys. Narcissa would be left with her 'pin money' and the investments bought with her dowry. Her son would have only what I gave him.

“And you're going to pretend this is all above board?” I wasn't going to play this game and I certainly was not going to sign but I wanted to know how far Gringotts was prepared to push a point.

“It is entirely legal. Goblin law, which applies to all non-human magical species.” The smile returned. Tom Riddle and his cronies had killed a lot of goblins during the war. This was blood money.

Malfoy's medical condition had shifted him from wizard to non-human magical species. Veela were listed as sentients under both Ministry and goblin law. There'd been centuries of discord between the different magical kindred but the Ministry had financial treaties with Gringotts they would never break.

Malfoy was Veela enough to have a breeding heat, therefore according to the financial regulations, his vaults went to an appropriate witch or wizard for oversight and management. In this case, his mate.

“This is hilarious.” I handed the parchment to Malfoy. “So what happens when I don't sign?”

“The vaults are defaulted to the Ministry, who will assign a trustee to ensure the creature's assets are properly managed.” The goblin was openly grinning now. Malfoy had gone ashen.

“Because magical creatures are unreliable and cannot be trusted to govern themselves.” I was paraphrasing from one of the edicts restricting werewolf rights. I had planned to dedicate my career to striking down as many of the frankly racist statutes as possible. Quite a few, historically, had been sponsored by Malfoys. The Sacred Twenty-Eight liked everyone to know their place.

“As you say, madam.” He grinned like a shark far better than I ever could, rows of pointed teeth gleaming ivory. Malfoy looked sick.

“Sign it.” He thrust the paperwork back at me. “Sign it now!”

“I'm not going to steal your money.” I hissed. “You don't trust me.”

“You're a Gryffindor.” The contempt dripped like poison. “You won't cheat me. Whoever the Ministry appoints, they can choose anyone and they'll choose someone who hates my family, will have Mother and me begging in the streets.”

“Like the Muggle-borns did under Voldemort.” I spat back.

Malfoy was out of his chair, the shadows dancing as his aura heightened, his magic flaring around his body like an aurora. I would've stripped naked and knelt before him if he'd asked. But he didn't. He grabbed my jumper instead, towering over me and tried to make me do what I was told.

SING self defence. I wasn't a martial artist. I wasn't even particularly strong but being held hostage by fanatics had removed from me any hesitation a normal person would have about hitting someone and really meaning it. My shin impacted on his crotch unfettered by sympathy.

He bent double, letting go. I jumped away as far as the small room would allow. The goblin levitated the parchment to his hand, arching an eyebrow.

I signed the damn thing, my qualms quashed by Malfoy's attempt at intimidation. I hadn't wanted to put him even more in my power than he already was. And honestly I hadn't wanted to mire myself further in this life.

The goblin teller sauntered out of the room looking like all his Yules had come at once. The door shut with a click behind him and I stood there glaring as Malfoy wheezed.

It took me at least a minute to realise I had done what he wanted.

I started swearing. When I ran out of English profanities I started on all the French words I'd learned that I'd never let my parents hear me say.

“You unmitigated arse!” I snapped at him when he finally straightened up to look me in the face.

“Any plans to throw my mother out of her home?” He was smirking. Wincing at bit still but smirking.

“I bloody well should. That'd teach you, since you seem incapable of simply being told. You don't touch me, Malfoy.” I should have felt angrier than I did. But if I closed my eyes I could be standing on a beach, cold sea breeze on my skin. Nothing but miles of sand and water and quietude. I'd go there right now if I knew where it was.

“Technically, I touched your hideous jumper.” That comment was so Malfoy I glared at him.

“I order you to stop being such a smug git.” I snapped, and I knew then I wasn't going to send him home to his mother. Damn it. Maybe if I get a gas mask I'll be able to return to rational thought. Much more of this and I'll need to invest in a hazmat suit to avoid tearing off my own clothes.

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't.” I shook my head. “I rescind the git order. Just be yourself. I don't want you on a leash.” I didn't say I didn't want him, which I noticed. I hoped he hadn't. Think cold shower thoughts. Getting out of this small room would also be a good idea. “I'm going to run some errands. You can do what you like. I suggest you let your mum know about this banking fiasco.”

“You really don't like it?” There was just enough of an inflection in his voice to turn the statement into a question.

“Of course I bloody don't!” I shouted then hoped the tiny office had solid walls. I didn't want our farce to be public domain. “It's offensive. Taking the control of their own resources away from people based on their species or the legalistic definition of their species? I won't be a part of it.”

“Yet now you're the chatelaine of the Malfoy fortune.” There was a weird undertone to that statement. I could see he didn't like not being in charge. After the mess his father made, taking control of the finances would be a big step Malfoy badly wanted. But he wasn't as angry about this as he should be either.

“What are you thinking?” If he had some conspiracy brewing about rehabilitating his family name by having me do all the scutwork I was going to denounce it.

“My mate tends the nest.” He tried to hide his smile behind a smirk.

“For fuck's sake!” I usually didn't have such a potty mouth. If I had a swear jar today, I'd be broke.

“Not right now, dear. I'm a bit sore.” It was an attempt at humour that sounded a bit like an apology. I still glared. I wasn't going to ask him to say he was sorry because honestly I didn't believe he was.

“Are you even trying to resist this? Mudblood, remember? Your heritage has you by the bollocks.” Getting myself through this ordeal was a challenge. If he gave up, dragging the both of us would be impossible.

“I don't have to like you to want you. You're so easy to manipulate.” And there it was, the conspiracy.

“You staged that outburst?” I was so surprised I sounded calm. He shrugged.

“I would never allow a stranger to reign over my family. Not again. The Ministry trustee would've been told about my condition. They would've kept their distance, used the Creatures Laws, made my mother crawl. You won't.” He spoke with perfect confidence.

“I don't understand Slytherins.” Minds like corkscrews, the lot of them. “Why didn't you just ask me to help?”

“I already owe you too much. I hate this. I'd kiss your feet if you asked me to. But I know how to make you do what I want.” He stepped close to me, his hands brushing mine. Not holding, only touching fleetingly. “That's worth some pain, I think.”


	7. Amuse Bouche

I gave up on lunch out and rushed my other errands. I Apparated home and sat glaring at Malfoy as I made a phone call to distract myself. I can multi-task talking and silently expressing outrage quite well. Sixth Year gave me a lot of practise.

Malfoy rooted about in the fridge and the chest freezer inspecting my neatly labelled Tupperware. He pulled out a few likely prospects. 

“You froze bouillabaisse?” Malfoy made a face.

“Just the stock and vegetables. I go to the fish market to, yes, thank you, I'll hold.” My parents had dealt with several real estate companies for both business and home, all of which I wanted to avoid. The one I was calling now was large and hopefully impersonal. “To get fresh seafood. Mussels go mushy when you thaw them.”

Malfoy put the bouillabaisse back in the correct place and decided on the pastitsio. I love Greek food but I can only make a few dishes. My one attempt at moussaka had ended with a white sauce better used for glue.

His reheating charm was passable though I preferred the microwave as I could do other things while science warmed my meal. I pointed to the cupboard that held the plates as I was transferred to a realtor.

Malfoy set the table and portioned food and rummaged through the pantry for a bottle of wine. He sneered at the label before opening it. I lied my polished lies, made an appointment for a house inspection then hung up.

“How long does it take Muggles to sell a house?” Malfoy poured me a glass of red and I sipped it, remembering the last family trip to France when I had been old enough for my parents to let me taste what they were drinking. I'd felt so grown up.

“How long is a piece of string? I'm going to shrink all the furniture and household stuff, so moving will happen when it happens.” Not my usual way of doing things but I didn't want to face the prospect of having to rent somewhere on my own because the veela problem wasn't going to be fixed in a week.

We ate in silence. I cast Cooling Charms and thought about work. And Malfoy, which distracted me from brooding over the future. I ate the pasta casserole and decided next time I would add more garlic. Or I could marinade the lamb before mincing it. Or I could run away to hide myself somewhere and pretend none of this was happening. Being a responsible adult has knobs on.

“What do you plan to do now? Are you going to work?” I asked because I mostly wanted him away from me as much as possible.

“No.” His reply was flat and surly. “My father's business interests were confiscated for reparations.”

“It was just a bloody question.” I snapped. I was going to be a harpy of a mother if my children ever sulked. “You don't actually want to loaf about doing nothing, right?”

“I don't need to work unless you cut me off from my family's vaults.” He challenged. The urge to throw something at his stupid smirky face was nearly overwhelming. My own hunger stopped me. My pastitsio was too good to waste launching it at him.

“Want not need.” I clarified. He shrugged and finishing his food before answering.

“I haven't given it much thought. There is a lot to do putting the estate back in order.” He looked at me, sipped wine then put his glass down and walked around the table to stand next to me.

I kissed him.

I was on my feet, my lips on his before I realised it. When I did notice, I shoved him away, shuffling backwards to put my chair between us.

“Point made.” I scrubbed a hand over my mouth and gulped some wine. Probably not a good idea as alcohol lowered inhibitions but I was more upset cutting the final tie to my parents than I was about snogging the Ferret.

“I can think about other things when I'm around you.” Malfoy resumed his seat. “But the fucking context is always you. Home for you. Plans for you. Future for our children. I have no sovereignty. It's worse than an arranged marriage. At least then if I wanted to ignore my wife, I could.”

“Charming.” Oh how the upper crust suffered on a rack of their own making.

“My parents were fortunate in their love. Blaise's mother barely remembers his father's name. Pansy's parents hate each other. Mrs Goyle has a Mistress.” Malfoy scowled when I rolled my eyes.

“Muggles have this thing called divorce. It isn't fun but it does solve unhappy marriages. No need to languish all angsty and Bronte.” Antagonising him was not diminishing my unacceptable urge to ravish him on the dining room table. It was unsanitary for starters.

Whatever Malfoy was going to say in riposte was quelled by an Apparition into the back garden. We both had our wands out and we both opted not to notice or comment on that mutual paranoia. Clearly I wasn't the only one for whom the war wasn't quite over.

It was Bill and a very pregnant Fleur, who glowered at Malfoy. When I protested she shouldn't be Apparating so far long I copped some of the same dirty look. Behind his wife, Bill shook his head warningly.

“Would you like something to eat?” I hastily offered. Baby Victoire might yet to have made her arrival but she certainly was demanding. Fleur had an appetite to rival Malfoy's now the morning-and-afternoon sickness had worn off.

“Merci, oui.” She sat down on one of the kitchen chairs, batting Bill away when he made to adjust it for her. “I am sick of the little cottage. We needed to take ze air.”

I made up a plate of ginger snaps and put the kettle on. Bill helped himself to the fridge to do something with the cold roast beef that had escaped Malfoy's appetite. My houseguest tried to help himself to the biscuits and Fleur hissed at him. Malfoy forgot himself enough to snarl at her, which had Bill whipping his wand out almost growling himself.

“Calm, please.” I didn't raise my hands. I kept them where everyone could see them, palms down on the counter. “I'll get you a plate of something, Malfoy. Would you like some biscuits too?”

“Yes, thank you.” He said through his teeth, eyes hard on the pregnant blonde rather than her irate husband. I nudged Bill, not making eye contact. He put his wand away and muttered an apology.

Malfoy got his own plate with his own damn ginger snaps. He and Fleur sat at the kitchen table and ate at each other, each guarding their own supply. Bill made himself a round of sandwiches. I retrieved my unfinished lunch.

No one said anything. I was used to that. Meals at the Burrow are still largely mute. Various people take turns jollying along conversation but it still isn't like it was. The quiet gave me a chance to put my questions in order. I didn't expect Fleur to stay long. She tires easily regardless of how restive she was feeling.

“How do we get out of this?” I asked, figuring I might as well start with the big issue. “Malfoy and I don't like each other. We certainly don't want to be forced into becoming closer.”

“It is too late.” Fleur said with a Gallic shrug. “Some things, zey are meant to be.” She smiled affectionately at her husband. “Sometimes you just know.”

“There's been no knowing.” I hastily stated. I was on technical grounds here. I was prepared to defend intimate as being quite different to intercourse. Or outright lie to Bill and Fleur too. I'd already fibbed to Ron, what was more guilt?

“Jogging and cold showers?” Bill chuckled at my expression.

“Cooling Charms.” I reluctantly admitted. I did want their advice after all. “And a lot of cold showers.”

“It won't work. I managed with exercise and thinking pure thoughts during the day but at night I'd dream of Fleur.” He didn't sound particularly aggrieved about that. Then again the worst he'd faced over his relationship was his mother's hostility to the French witch.

“The dreams have already changed.” Malfoy muttered to his ginger snaps. Bill and Fleur nodded. I had obviously missed that memo. “I used to dream of flying.” He explained to my raised eyebrow. “Now it's just you being filthy, Granger.”

“I really don't want to talk about that.” I whinged, stabbing my casserole.

“Being defensive's a symptom too.” Bill grimaced. “It's worse with the werewolf instincts. Anything that came too close was a threat. I was growling at the owls when they delivered the post.”

“We don't want this.” Malfoy hissed, an actual hiss like Fleur had made when defending her biscuits. The vocalisation was interesting, as was Bill's reaction to it. He made a low rumbling noise in his throat, warning Malfoy not to disturb his mate.

I made a silent promise to myself that if I started making animal noises I would emigrate.

“Tant pis.” Fleur tossed her hair. It caught the light in a silky wave but Malfoy's was nicer.

“That's it?” I didn't shout. I didn't throw my hands in the air in melodramatic outrage. I did consider finishing off the wine until my common sense reared ugly and made me be practical. “Surely someone has resisted the Veela bonding.”

“A few.” She conceded. “All ended badly. Madness or curses or death.” Fleur looked from Malfoy to me. “You could make him into someone worthy of you. Better for you I think than Ronald.”

“I love Ron!” I was sure of many things. I didn't doubt my feelings for Ron. Just the timing and reliability.

“He is very amiable, oui. You would be happy enough together.” She spoke as though happiness was an also-ran. “But you would not drive each other. It would be you nagging and Ron lazying. Both of you could be great, but not together. Too comfortable.”

“So I should mould Malfoy like plasticine until I get something I can stand?” Who did she think I was? I wouldn't be Salome for anyone.

“The bond gives power to both and grows stronger together. Which one of you commands the other?” Now she was speaking to me like I was a child refusing to eat my spinach.

“I don't know what you mean.” I hedged.

“That's another symptom. Protectiveness.” Bill smiled around his sandwich, evidently finding this far more amusing than I did. Malfoy looked more surprised than offended.

“It's basic respect for another person's autonomy! It's a human right!” That was another thing on my life goals list. I was going to get an UN style declaration passed to uphold the rights of magical people everywhere.

“Veela are not human.” Fleur's tone was mild, mostly. I caught a hint of rancour underneath the smooth words. Was this going to be SPEW all over again? Had I stepped in something because there was no damn book on comparative anthropology I could find outside some pure-blood's private collection?

“They're still people. You aren't any less a person because of your grandmother, just like I'm not any less of a person because of mine.” I took hold of my temper with both hands. I didn't want to start a shouting match with a woman in her ninth month of pregnancy. “Consent is important.”

“You are making zis too difficult.” She bit a ginger snap daintily. I wanted to shake her.

“So if you were drawn to someone you disliked you'd just give in? Shrug and make the best of it, ignoring what you actually wanted?” I asked because I wanted a damn answer to that from someone.

“The mating urge is for ze strongest, ze best, ze one who will give you la vie en rose.” This time when she smiled at Bill her expression was almost exultant. I shifted uncomfortably. In my experience, mad passion led you to Azkaban not eternal bliss.

Bill took Fleur home when she started to flag. I tidied up while not looking at Malfoy. I was so tired of fighting. I been at war for years. I wasn't spent but if I were a car, my driver would be eyeing the fuel gauge and looking seriously for a petrol station.

“You lied to them. For me. For the sake of my dignity.” Malfoy couldn't be grateful without a smirk. I'd be far more in favour of bending him to my will if I thought the end product would be a worthwhile member of society rather than a smug git.

“I don't actually like seeing you crawl. That's more your trick.” Honest but harsh. I ran the tap to fill the sink then turned it off and cleaned the dishes with magic. I put them away by hand as a sop to my work ethic.

“You don't believe I can change.” His words were shorn of emotion. He could've been reading from a cue card.

“I don't think you want to.” I gave him the simple truth. “I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and say you don't want to be a terrorist or rule the world but I do think you'd be quite happy pretending Muggles don't exist.”

“I'm not my father.” He stood up, marching over to me to loom. The counter was between us and I noted three ways of escape before I replied.

“If you were, I'd be dead. I know veela are supposed to go mad when their mate dies but I think if you were Lucius, you'd take your chances.” I met his eyes and felt his presence as though we were embracing.

“I want you.” Malfoy reached out to touch my cheek but stopped just before his fingers brushed my skin. “There's no one else for me.”

“There is something else for me.” Possibly. I didn't want to be rushed into anything. Seven years of jumping from frying pan to fire left me craving caution. “I want Ron involved in this. And Harry. And the Weasleys because no force on earth will make them keep their distance.”

“Then I will have my mother and such of my friends who still acknowledge my existence.” He didn't lower his arm. I leant into his touch, lightning crackling down my spine.

“I set the pace.” I took a deep breath. “And we do this properly. I'm going to read up on dominance in relationships.” I didn't want a slave but maybe I could tolerate a submissive. Maybe. “And the moment, I mean it, the microsecond you want someone else you tell me. No drama. No walking out after an argument.”

“I might leap in without looking but when I pick a side, I stay.” His eyes dropped from mine to his left arm and the Mark under his sleeve.

“For your family.” His parents had run through a battlefield screaming for him, thinking more of finding him than their own safety. Narcissa lied to Voldemort for the chance to search for her son. Malfoys would do anything for family.

“Yes.” His hand slid down my neck to my shoulder. He pulled me closer as he leaned in, still with the counter between us. I kissed him again. Cold water, salt and citrus.

“I want to go to the beach.” I said.


	8. Littoral

I stood on black sand staring into a rainstorm blowing in off the North Atlantic. Puffins screamed on the basalt cliffs. Waves whipped almost white by the wind lashed the sea stacks and sheeted across the beach leaving the dark sand glistening like onyx.

“It's fucking cold.” Malfoy complained. Evidently an anorak, beanie, jeans, hiking boots and a Warming Charm were insufficient for his delicacy. He'd bitched about the polar breeze until I corrected him with a reminder that Iceland was below the Arctic Circle. He didn't care.

“It's not even freezing.” I shouted, jumping over a narrow rivulet in the sand. I laughed and channelling my inner child hopped into the water, kicking and splashing.

“I could be ravishing you in hot springs right now.” He stuffed his gloved hands into the pockets of his Muggle coat, hiding his grin in the puffy collar. But I notice his mouth. The air here was perfect. Clean and wild. I was drunk on it.

It had taken the better part of a week to organise this trip. The actual booking of it was done in a few hours of courtesy of the internet and a visit to a travel agent. The rest of the time was spent dealing with wizarding bureaucracy and wizards themselves. Two specifically; Harry and Ron

It galled Malfoy that I wanted my friends involved in what they'd taken to calling 'Ferret's Little Problem'. I had stuck to my promise to keep our privacy. I hadn't mentioned my control of him. But my privy circle included my best friends.

I'd invited them over for dinner, just we three and Malfoy. I had secured his good behaviour by allowing him to choose my underwear. The initial offer had got snide remarks on white cotton bloomers until I showed him my naughty knicker collection.

As part of my return to normality, I'd treated myself to some new clothes. I'd frankly needed new underwear badly. Instead of replacing my virginal six-in-a-pack pants, I had bought some lingerie. Quite a bit of lingerie.

A drawer full of scanties I'd not been brave enough to wear for anyone but me. Malfoy had a marvellous time with the silk and lace. I was getting a bit worried when he held up a satin thong I'd bought on the principle that I might need a G-string. Apparently women do, for some reason.

He picked a retro teddy with ribbon straps. It was green. Of course it was green. But I wore it and he was astonishingly well behaved. Ron needled him, no surprise. To get anything done, I ended up banishing Malfoy to a corner to read while Harry, Ron and I talked under a Muffliato.

There had been some shouting. Unavoidable, really. I didn't like it. Had to admit to myself that neither did my best friend or my boyfriend. So I was honest with my expectations of success. I emphasised 'long-term'. Ron suggested the pregnancy option again but I could tell he didn't like the idea of just having a baby to solve a problem. He'll be a great dad when he's ready. That's not now, though.

I showed them everything Percy had found and walked them through my conclusions. I hadn't told Malfoy any of this. If he wanted to manage his condition, he could do the damn research too. My biggest concern with the inbred recombinant Veela traits were they didn't come as a whole package. Mixed in with human DNA, they could express in odd ways. We needed to tailor the therapy to Malfoy.

Ron suggested gelding him. Harry had looked torn between laughter and masculine revulsion. I pointed out my only exit strategy was to foist him onto a pure-blood bride. There was general sympathy for the poor unnamed witch. 

We hammered out a collective strategy. I would housebreak Malfoy. Harry would keep the Ministry off my back and head off any officious match-making. Ron would fend off his mother plus reassuring his family that the three of us had it under control. And he wouldn't wait for me.

That caused a lot of shouting. I explained that this situation was hard enough on me without him suffering too. I didn't want him sitting at home worrying. We deserved some fun. That sentiment struck home with both Harry and Ron. We'd lost our teen years to war. A few months of moderate bacchanal wouldn't hurt. If we didn't do it now, recharge ourselves and live a little, when would we?

We hugged. We three.

When they left I felt terribly alone. I didn't want to turn to Malfoy and do something foolish to make myself feel better so I went upstairs and started to pack. I had given my parents memories of donating most of their belongings. We'd moved often enough to discourage accumulating whatnots and clutter. Most of what remained behind was mine or of me; photos I couldn't bear changing or sentimental stuff.

I shrunk things, stacking them like doll house furniture in my school trunk. The realtor would know if I needed to repaint or some such. Mostly I wanted to make myself leave. Hanging on, seeing my mum and dad in every room, hurt too much. I might regret not having a place to be a Muggle but I still had physical ties to my parents. I'd never forget them.

“You never just give up, do you, Granger?” Malfoy asked from the doorway of the guest room.

“Force of habit.” I replied, pulling blankets off the bed. “I'm going to clear the house and go to the damn sea-side and drink fruity drinks with paper umbrellas in them.” I'd try a few for the sake of it. Mostly I wanted some air.

Which is why I was in Vik, Iceland. The travel agent had booked accommodation for us and visas, and had looked at me funny when I had said we'd shop around for airfare. We'd taken a Portkey to Nattfaravik, the only magical settlement in Iceland, on the north coast of the island before heading to Reykjavik to rent a car to drive the Ring Road.

Malfoy was not happy with the Muggle vehicle. For about twenty minutes. Then we left the city and I pushed the blue sedan to 90kmh. That got a sniff because it wasn't as fast as a broom. But he was quiet after that. I enjoyed the scenery. Then we got to the beach and I nearly danced on the sand.

“If anyone sees you cavorting they'll think you're mad.” Malfoy groused as I took deep lungfuls of the cold, salty air and felt the mental cobwebs blow away. I was making progress again. Slightly sideways because of the 'little problem' but I was out of my doldrums.

“They'll think I'm a tourist.” I grinned at the rugged up blonde, crunching over to him in my hiking boots with the Gryffindor red laces. I leaned close to him and cast another Warming Charm. “This weather smells like you. To me, at least. I'm enjoying myself.”

I kissed him because there was no way he would take off any of his clothes in this wind. He clung to me, pulling the heat from me. Metaphorically and literally. I'd done some shopping by myself in London before we left. And quite a bit of reading I would never admit to. I was in control.

“Coquette.” Malfoy groaned when I stopped.

“Not at all. I plan to do a little experimenting tonight. I'd like you in the proper frame of mind.” The hint of intimacy was enough to widen his pupils dramatically. I was going to use that response to gauge his involvement in our activities. Eyes are the windows of the soul, and I think a better judge of interest than an erection given the Veela urges.

We went back to the car. Malfoy gladly got in out of the wind. I lingered, wrestling out of my padded jacket. The kiss and the exhilaration had warmed me. I didn't want to get into an enclosed space with my bete noire before I cooled myself off. I'd need a quick dip in the ocean to court hypothermia to break my fever. He stared hungrily at me while I drove to the Bed and Breakfast.

It was early in the season so I'd got a good price on a room with a sea view. Malfoy carried our bags with a martyred expression. Wizards were allergic to manual labour. Once the door clicked shut, a flick of a wand unpacked our belongings except for a black silk bag I had charmed. I didn't want it's contents brought to light before I was ready.

I locked the door and cast a Muggle Repelling Charm , not brazen enough to risk being interrupted. We sat down to discuss our want, will, won't lists. I explained the concept, especially the 'will' versus 'want' so Malfoy understood I had made my own list and he didn't need to agree to everything just to get me to touch him.

“Because we want to keep this private, we need to set some boundaries.” I didn't want to leap out of my comfort zone immediately so I began with the basics. “We need a code phrase for you to tell me you need to leave a situation. Sticking it out until you have a panic attack is masochism not courage.”

“You don't need to pander to my weakness, Granger.” He snapped, very much his old self.

“Positive reinforcement, Malfoy.” I snapped back. “We're building trust and a framework for you to live with the Veela urges. Being joined at the hip with you isn't part of my life plan.” That was a bit more abrupt than I wanted. I shucked my boots and sat down on the bed. “We can make the futures we want for ourselves. We don't have to surrender.”

“Gryffindor.” Malfoy muttered but he mimicked me, sitting on the other twin bed.

“So a code phrase for public.” I returned to the lecture. I have urges too. “If you were Muggle-born, we could use the traffic light colours as a safe word but you're not so we'll need something else.” I thought about House colours. “Though maybe that would work. For Muggles, green is go, amber is wait and red is stop.”

“Slytherin. Hufflepuff. Gryffindor.” He smirked. I would've been able to see that smirk in the pitch dark. Thinking about behavioural conditioning, I left him to write his list while I changed and primped in the bathroom.

I hadn't been game enough to wear any of my fancy knickers for the trip. Most itched. But I had packed a few in the silk bag. Some cosmetic charms later, I stared at myself in the mirror in the green satin teddy and resisted rolling my eyes. The woman I saw wasn't me. But maybe it would be fun to pretend for a while.

I transfigured my socks into a pair of spiky heels then covered myself with a bathrobe before I lost my nerve. I swanked my best swank out of the bathroom. Malfoy looked up from his writing and stared, eyes going wide. I tweaked his list out of his hand.

His was conventional, slightly more conservative than mine, which I pulled out of the bag for him to read as I minced to the window. One of his 'wills' was 'public affection', which he probably meant as holding hands or a kiss on the cheek. I pulled the curtains wide. Sedge grass, road, beach then ten thousand miles of ocean.

I cherished the idea of making love on the soft grass in an orchard, apple blossoms drifting onto bare skin. I had never done so but the pink romantic fantasy made me sigh. No inclination to strip off and streak, just fond memories of warm sun on my skin and sweet kisses.

“Anyone on the road will be able to see us.” Malfoy objected. I tapped the glass with my wand. It rippled and would show from the outside the image of an empty room. I put my hand on the curtain then looked at him.

“Slytherin.” He said after a moment watching the distant dark sea. We could both feel the power in the weather, the magic just waiting to be tapped. The same energy crackled between us.

“In this room, you will call me Mistress.” I said, using my code phrase to initiate intimacy. I had written it on my list.

“In this room, you will call me supplicant.” He drew the last word out on a hiss. I didn't want a slave and Malfoy would never serve. But he might beseech. He stood, awaiting orders. I turned, untying the belt of the robe to shrug it off.

“Undress. Every last stitch, supplicant.” I enunciated the words carefully and kept my eyes on him as he hurriedly pulled his clothes off. He was already hard and I felt a flash of sympathy for him. The Veela lust was riding him like a nightmare. If I'd been cruel, I could have turned him into a pet.

I walked slowly over to him, because balancing in heels on carpet was tricky and I wanted to keep eye contact. I took his hands, placing them on his erection. I could feel the heat of his skin. Sweat prickled on mine.

“Kneel and offer a libation.” I ordered and really hoped I didn't have to explain.

“Yes, Mistress.” He complied, dropping to his knees and stroking himself as I watched. My gaze never left his face. I'd read about active listening, about investing in paying attention like it was a physical activity. I concentrated on him. His eyes, the planes of his cheeks, the line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. His hands were busy, I knew, but my focus never wavered. It was exhausting.

He came on my feet, the hot liquid startling me out of my fixation. I staggered back dizzily as the connection between us snapped. I stumbled against one of the beds and sat, nearly missing. My magic coiled back into me, my aura separating from his like static electricity.

Malfoy stayed on his knees waiting for me to recover. I nodded eventually and he got up, tidying as I closed my eyes and waited for the room to stop spinning. Intense. Damn me. I was only half aware when he pulled the coverlet back, guiding me into bed and tucking the blankets around me.

I dozed, waking hungry. Malfoy was fully dressed in a dark suit and polished shoes. The concept of holiday clearly meant something different to him. He was reading so I enrobed myself and took a change of underwear into the bathroom where I had left my clothes.

I felt not too shabby. Roses in my cheeks and a spring to my step, mostly because my socks had reverted to comfy. I touched myself intimately to discover my body's response and while I was well lubricated I wasn't sensitive or aching. Was this the sort of heightened state of awareness Tantric rites were supposed to grant? More research for me.

“My mother thinks you will neglect me.” Malfoy informed me after I made my bed. I made a huffing noise, which was a good, all purpose comment without resorting to casual blasphemy. “Don't scoff. She could petition the Wizengamot to enforce a bonding.”

“Her precious boy to a Mudblood?” I verbally raised an eyebrow as I pulled a metal cube from the beaded bag that I couldn't shake carrying. I got agitated when I didn't have it, the same as my wand. So I had made a little deal with myself. The bag would live in a bowl on the hall table with my keys and if I forgot it then c'est la vie. I had got to the stage where I didn't notice if I didn't have it, which was progress.

The metal cube was cold to the touch and expanded into the magical equivalent of a fridge. I had another one with a stasis charm on it that acted like a freezer, which I had left with Fleur and Bill with the contents of my chest freezer so they wouldn't have to cook when the baby came. I made myself a sandwich.

“My mother would do anything for me.” Malfoy's eyes narrowed as I spread mayonnaise. “Are you paying attention?”

“Absolutely.” I confirmed, adding roast chicken. “Tell your mother that you will marry a nice girl she picks out for you when we get the contact you need from me down to about once a week.” I dug salad out of the bowl and piled it on top of the chicken before squishing it down with the second piece of bread. “The unfortunate bride will have to accept you may never fully sake the Veela instincts.”

“And do you think Weasley will accept you and me being intimate?” He watched me slice my sandwich. “You packed cutlery as well?”

“I put drawers in the cube. There's one for utensils. Would you like something?” I asked before I packed everything away. His head shake conveyed I was a barbarian for not waiting until dinner. “I don't know how Ron will cope. That's something he and I will have to sort out between us. I do know I'm not going to have a baby with him just to stave you off.”

“There is no guarantee the mating urge won't return after you have the child. I'm not a true Veela.” He watched me eat as though I was doing something erotic.

“I'd thought of that.” I had plenty of other things to worry about but I had kept coming back to the dread prospect of becoming Hermione Malfoy. “I'm going to get those damn creature laws changed too. Then I can had you, your money and your mother to some other witch.

“You could simply give in.” Malfoy shifted tensely in his chair.

“Lie back and think of England? Not a chance.” That wasn't me. I resented noticing how he moved, the way the light made a nimbus around him as though he were seraphic. He fidgeted again as I stared. “You can't be keen for another go already?”

“For fuck's sake, Granger!” He exploded. “I touched your magic. When you watched me it was like you were staring into my soul! I couldn't have felt more of you if I'd been balls deep in you!”

“There's no damn need to be so vulgar!” I snarled, fortunately not with a mouth full of sandwich. He got up and lunged for me and we ended up on the floor with the table and my snack crashing down with us.

He bit me.

On the soft part of my shoulder near the base of my neck. Sunk his blunt teeth in hard. When I felt pain and wetness there I thought he had drawn blood. I grabbed two fistfuls of his hair and hauled his head away from me. To see his tears. Running down his face like silver.

“I felt your soul and you want to send me away.” Malfoy choked, abject and angry. “You fucking bitch.” He hissed, his chest heaving for breath. “I hate you.”


	9. Shoal

I slapped him. Right across the face with the full swing of my arm from the shoulder. My palm on his cheek sounded like a gun shot in the aftermath of his declaration. I suppose I had made my own sort of statement. 

He grabbed my wrist as I got up, jerking me against him. His scent was everywhere and that half-seen shimmering light I'd noticed before was back, this time more distinct. A physical manifestation of his aura, I realised. If I squinted I could see wings.

“You will let go of me.” I said coldly. I wasn't going to draw this out. There wasn't going to be a huge dramatic scene. “You will stand in that corner and watch me pack. Then you will watch me leave.” I took a breath, pausing to reaffirm my grip on my voice and temper. “After that, I suggest you Apparate to Nattfaravik so you can get a Portkey home. That's not an order. You can do what you like after I'm gone. You can walk into the fucking sea for all I care.”

“Hermione.” He started to say something as his hand released my arm.

“I did not give you permission to speak, Malfoy.” I stepped away from him and started collecting my things. He walked over to the corner I had indicated. I cleaned up the mess, furious with myself for thinking things could be otherwise. He was a spoiled, entitled arse who had never been denied anything in his life. He didn't give a damn about me.

I left the Bed and Breakfast, taking the car. I drove east along the Ring Road until the adrenalin ebbed and the tears started. I pulled over, walking down to the beach to sit on the sand in the rain to cry. Very sensible.

I could still feel him.

The sensation skittered across my skin beneath the touch of the raindrops. I cast a Cooling Charm, which did nothing but make me start shivering. Sensible again. I cried some more trying to shed whatever was making me feel so fucking miserable. I wanted my mum.

Who would have told me to come in from the weather and not be so daft. So I did that, drying myself in the car. I sat there listening to the rain on the roof, watching the droplets spatter on the windscreen. So, I prompted myself. So, now what?

I had accommodation and a couple of tours booked. It seemed silly to go back to England to spend my time off in a hotel or squirrelling about in my parents' empty house. I would enjoy my holiday, get my head sorted then deal with the shite back home.

On the strength of that, I drove circumspectly in the rain on the right side of the road. I had my International Driving Permit because it had seemed useful to get but I wasn't used to it yet. Ten days in Iceland would give me a handy amount of practise. Positive thoughts.

Three days later, percolating in a geothermal lake in a caldera I had to admit to myself that indolence had its perks. The tour had flown to the mountainous interior as the roads didn't open until June then we'd hiked through a lunar landscape before taking our ease in the milky waters.

The tension in my body had melted away and the Veela spawned heat was nothing compared to the raw, potent power of the volcano beneath us. Malfoy's remark about ravishing me in a hot spring vexatiously returned to mind. I had been doing fairly well in forgetting him but the scent was still there. As was the lingering caress of his magic.

I submerged myself deeper into the hot water. I would be back in England in time for the second anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Thought of that was very effective in cooling my ardour. I would go to the official celebratory knees up and try to enjoy myself. The first anniversary had seen me carry Harry and Ron home. The boys had got utterly plastered. I'd only been fit to Apparate because I'd filled myself up on canapés avoiding talking to people.

Ginny had mentioned having a party at the Burrow and going to the Ministry do after the dinner and speeches. That would certainly be my preference. I'd pop into Nattfaravik tomorrow to send an owl. Which if I were honest I had been avoiding doing.

I slept badly that night, waking dripping with sweat at four in the morning. A cold shower, an interlude with some of the toys from the silk bag and another cold shower got me to breakfast with a reasonably clear head. I hoped Malfoy was climbing the bloody walls. That wasn't charitable but I was fed up. I felt like he was following me, just out of sight.

Because I am a witch and a survivor and willing to concede to my own distrust, I cast a few of the security spells I'd used in the war. Just in case. There was no one there and no surveillance. All in my head. That was alas pretty much what I had expected.

Nattfaravik was misty in the early morning and tranquil. The Owl Post opened early due to the time difference between Iceland and continental Europe so I didn't have to wait long to send my owl. I felt sorry for the poor creatures on the long journey to England and said so to the clerk. He consoled me that the birds stopped in the Faroe Islands where the letters were transferred otherwise too many were lost to the weather.

I asked about packages and mail to North America. We were chatting quite affably when the 'whomf' of a Portkey displacing a significant amount of air caught my attention. I poked my head out a window to see half a dozen Aurors in the town square.

I Disapparated.

I went back to my hotel, packed and checked out. I drove until I found a crowded car park near a grocery store. With my vehicle anonymous amongst a hundred others, I collected myself.

I had fled on instinct. Half recognising the Aurors from the British Ministry, I had instantly assumed they were in Iceland for me. And six of them meant they were not there to chat. I Disillusioned myself, sliding lower in the driver's seat.

Of course I could be wrong. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was still hunting Death Eaters and sundry other criminals. Iceland was far enough from the UK that it might be a tempting hideaway. Or Malfoy could have done something. I hadn't ordered him to leave the island.

Conversely, nothing of a Veela or wizard running amok had been mentioned to me. No one had looked particularly alarmed sipping coffee as the sun burned away the mist. The clerk had been bored enough to chin-wag with a tourist about flight routes to Labrador.

The Aurors were here for me.

I didn't want to be hauled back to face whatever it was. Malfoy had probably gone whining to his mother. Narcissa didn't have as much clout as she had when her husband had been peacocking around the Ministry but the Creature Laws were on her side. She probably could have me hauled back to England to mop Malfoy's fevered brow.

I could go quietly.  
I acknowledged that as an option.  
It was something I could do.

Instead I Apparated to Keflavik International Airport and booked a seat on the next departing flight as nonchalantly as possible. Which was how I found myself in Business Class on Icelandair heading to Stockholm. The why of it was more explicable.

None of those Aurors were Muggle-born. Their first thought wouldn't necessarily be the airport. When we had arrived, I had left an itinerary with the Ministry consulate in Nattfaravik along with contact details. Iceland was very safe but there were still accidents. So the Aurors, if they were after me, would check where I had said I would be then check Portkeys.

I knew none of the Aurors were Muggle-born because the Mudbloods had been purged from the Ministry during the war and there hadn't been time for any new candidates to graduate yet. None of the group had been in the Order of the Phoenix. That didn't make them hostile. I didn't think they were out to hurt me. But that didn't make them allies either.

The flight had a ninety minute layover in Copenhagen, which suited me just fine. I disembarked with the other passengers then Apparated to London. It had been four hours since I saw the Aurors. Enough time for them to realise I wasn't where I should be.

I went to Harrods to be part of a crowd then phoned Seamus's parents' house. Seamus was home. He Apparated into the Ministry to casually relay my message to Harry. The circuitous communication system had helped us during the war when owls were being shot out of the sky. Not everyone in the DA had a telephone but their Muggle relatives did. We could make it all very perfunctory.

Neville met me for lunch. He looked particularly determined, which was never a good sign. Harry couldn't get out of the Ministry without being followed. Ron had been ejected from the building after coming to protest the letter I had received at the Burrow. He'd read it, which I'd tell him off for later, and had completely lost his composure.

“A marriage notice.” I said when Neville gave me a mundane copy of the letter. The original would have notified my receipt of it to the relevant Department. I read the full text of the Confirmation of Matrimonial Contract. “For the safety of the realm?”

“Malfoy's in St Mungo's. Sedated.” Neville informed me. “His mother had him admitted two days ago. Had an impressive fit, apparently. I don't know the details. Probably a temper tantrum.”

“A bit more than that.” Thwarted Veela could cut quite a swath. Malfoy wasn't as intense as a full-blooded Veela but he had his magic to compensate for his mixed heritage. I didn't think he would die from a broken heart. He wasn't likely to be rational, though. Hence the hospital admission. Neville noticed my grimace and put a comforting hand on him.

I flinched, jerking my arm away from his touch.

“Are you alright?” His concern was patent. I shook my head.

“Probably not. We'd been making progress until something set him off. He's so quixotic.” The exchange of magic had solidified my reaction to him. I wanted him badly. Like a fire in my blood or a massive sugar rush. Evidently Malfoy felt rejected. I wondered if he had dropped his Occlumency shield during our exchange. All that suppressed emotion hitting at once... I swore under my breath.

“Harry thinks you need to get out of the country. He thought you were safely in Iceland.” Neville jumped slightly in his seat when a mobile phone rang nearby. “Is it always this loud?”

“Afraid so.” I confirmed. “Who sent the Aurors to find me? Six of them showed up.”

“Wizengamot special dispensation.” He frowned. A back room deal done in a closed session. Influence peddling. Frustrating and difficult to stamp out. “You could be sent to Azkaban for breaking troth. Harry said Percy said they've pulled out all sorts of customary legislation. Dusty old stuff from the dynastic days before the Statute of Secrecy.”

I groaned. I should've expected that. If I went to Azkaban on a custodial sentence, my assets defaulted to the control of my magical next of kin. Sorting out who that was and getting the money back continued to be a significant headache for many Muggle-borns who had been incarcerated by the Registration Commission. In my case, given my matrimonial contract with Malfoy, I would bet Narcissa would first in line for the lolly.

I didn't care about the money. It wasn't mine anyway. But my own assets would be tied up in the transfer too. And my parents'. I caught myself biting my lip and stopped. It was a stress habit that had left me with a bruised mouth more than once. I needed to be clever.

“Neville, let's go to Gringotts.” I had an idea.

The Aurors caught up to me as I was leaving the bank. Bill had got me in to see the same teller that had given Malfoy and me the news of his vaults. The goblin was more than happy to assist. We made arrangements while Bill and Neville made themselves scarce. I didn't want them getting into trouble.

I was hauled into the Ministry, to a meeting with several representatives from the Wizengamot and Narcissa Malfoy. Kingsley was there too, warned by Harry. The mulberry clad wizards looked pompous, the Minister looked saturnine, and the witch was meticulously composed.

“Miss Granger.” One of them began once I was seated. I cut him off.

“I am not marrying Draco Malfoy.” I announced. “I do not consent to the contract.”

“In this case, I regret your consent has been waived.” The purple hat dipped in a gesture of consolation. “This is a matter of life or death. Precedent has established the need for decorum in these sorts of delicate issues.”

“I am not going to fuck Draco Malfoy.” I affirmed, thinking that I could unsettle the older wizards with some strategic vulgarity. I didn't expect to win the legal skirmish. I'd read everything Percy sent me but Narcissa had time, money and solicitors on her side. Her case was likely admantine.

My obscenity caused a little stir and Kingsley smirked. I gave him a cheerful wave. I knew he couldn't do anything to help beyond standing witness. There was no Ministerial veto in the Creature Laws and he would be pilloried for bending the rules for me. Narcissa would make sure of that. If her precious little boy was going to suffer, so was I.

That worked the other way around too.

“Surely it would not be so terrible.” A different wizard made a good try at being avuncular. He sounded effortlessly reasonable. “A respectable match, a passionate husband. You need never fear him straying, and he can keep you in a very comfortable style.”

“He hates me and I had all his money already.” I pointed out.

“Had?” Narcissa didn't let that little word pass by unremarked.

“Past tense.” I confirmed with a grin. I didn't think this was really about the Galleons. Narcissa liked her comfortable life but she'd give it all up for Draco. Mostly what I was doing was proving a point. “As the custodian of the Veela, I was given control of the bulk of the Malfoy vaults. As a show of support for his fellow Creatures, I requested Gringotts conduct an audit to ensure all goblin made items were returned to their rightful owners.”

The audit wouldn't bankrupt the Malfoys. The loss of their flashy trinkets and gewgaws probably would not make a dent in their lifestyle. But it would take ages for the Gringotts staff to inspect every object in the vaults. During which time, there was absolutely no chance the goblins would agree to contravene my request or remove my control of the vaults.

“I am sure young Master Malfoy could overcome his objections to your person. You are his 'mate'.” The hesitation from Mr Reasonable as he used the correct term was audible. He didn't glance at Narcissa. He was too consummate a politician to give away much beyond his distaste at a pure-blood being put in this situation.

“He is no more a willing participant in this farce than I am.” I objected on Ferret boy's behalf out of fairness. “And for my part, I would honestly rather go to jail than marry him.”

“Hyperbole, I think, young woman.” The first wizard frowned at me, clearly unaccustomed to non-compliance. This was all so civilised I'm sure they expected me to scream and shout then cave. I met Kingsley's eyes. He nodded, cheerless and understanding.

“You are mistaken.” I pushed my left sleeve up, baring Bellatrix's last gift livid on my arm. “I mean what I say.”

“He's suffering because of you!” Narcissa accused venomously, rising like a cobra. “You sealed the mating bond then rejected him!” Kingsley dove for her, grabbing her wrist before she could draw her wand to curse me. “He belongs with you! Mudblood bitch, you've damned my son!”

I had plenty of time to think about that in Azkaban.


	10. Gaol

I could convince myself for most of the day that I had done the right thing. It was only in the small hours that I doubted. I imagined Malfoy lying anaesthetised, soulless as though kissed by a Dementor, and I couldn't convince myself I didn't care. He didn't deserve that. In the little dark endless minutes before breakfast I imagined Neville looking at me with contempt as I condemned someone to the same half-life as his parents endured; in but out. Present but unaware.

That wasn't fair on me. Frank and Alice had been tortured. During the day I was sure my friends wouldn't deride me for my choice. Ron would support me. The Weasleys would too. But they'd do that because they loathed the Malfoys not because what I had done was right.

I turned my decision over and over in my head, eroding it to the essentials. Was my freedom, such as it was locked in a room without windows, worth the endless coma of another sentient person?

Sometimes I said yes. Sometimes I said no. Sometimes I paced back and forth from wall to wall arguing with myself like a lawyer trying a case. Was I negligent? Was I culpable? Was the debt Malfoy owed me sufficient that I could leave him to sleep away his life?

I had to strip down the issue to who paid. I was in Azkaban for an unspecified period of time. Honour debts and crimes of conscience did not carry fixed sentences. Basically, it was the wizarding equivalent of 'Her Majesty's pleasure'. I could spend the rest of my life in here or I could leave tomorrow, depending on who kissed what.

Harry visited a lot. He and the DA and the Order and all sorts of people who gave a damn about me or hated the Malfoys or just couldn't stomach the Ministry pulling this nonsense had been campaigning for my release. Narcissa was lobbying the other side, with consummate Slytherin word-twisting.

Hannah and I had a long conversation yesterday. Luna too. Useful different perspectives. Percy sent reams of letters and references and books. I hadn't been sitting idle. But I had been alone with my own thoughts. They were unquiet company.

Sooner of later, the tide of public opinion would drift to the conservative. That was human nature, magical or not. I didn't have a great overreaching social cause. This was between me and Narcissa, and eventually I would be the selfish Mudblood who simply refused to live by wizarding rules. The weight of the status quo would slowly crush my options.

Hannah had been surprisingly frank. She'd spoken to Susan on my behalf and both Badgers had thought much the same thing; I could make this a long, long campaign where I trudged until Narcissa eventually caved by grief or the Reaper. Or I could shoulder a larger burden now and help others. Sacrifice myself in increments or all at once.

Not a pleasant prospect either way. Luna had been more esoteric and frankly convoluted mind-games were not my first choice of strategy. I could follow her mental gymnastics but it left me with the urge to hit someone. Logic and facts were my arms and armour. But she had got me thinking.

I had plenty of time for thinking. Particularly in the early morning when I could smell the sea mist despite the tons of rock between me and the ocean. I didn't want to waste my life in Azkaban. I'd stay if it meant not pandering to the Malfoys but I could do so much more.

I talked to my banker. If I was going to sell myself I wanted to get the best price and the soundest investment strategy. The goblins had some very, very old grudges. I couldn't settle them all but if I agreed to help them, got their input into the devil's bargain then tying myself to Malfoy for life might not be so bad.

It took a while to get everything in place. Percy was invaluable and Kingsley cut through red tape like he was wielding the Sword of Gryffindor. The Wizengamot wanted to make an example of me. To put me in my place to show the general public that the rule of law was back.

So, I'd let them.  
For a price.

I went to my custodial review hearing in a sleeveless red dress. I made damn sure I was photographed in it with my scars showing. The Prophet probably wouldn't print that image but the Quibbler would. When this was over, I promised Luna all the interviews she wanted. Even daft ones about Nargles.

Narcissa was there looking immaculate. No frayed edges there but only one advocate present with her. Word had got around about her living on her dowry vault. Gringotts was picking over the Malfoy assets with tweezers. They'd get every last bauble. I was fine with that.

I got a new Statute. The Rights of the Sentient legislation overruled centuries of amendments to the charters between 'beings' and 'creatures'. House elves, goblins, centaurs, werewolves and so many other marginalised species now had the legal rights they always should have been granted. They weren't full citizens on par with wizards and witches. There was only so much I could do at once. But I could do more later.

Unfortunately, the legislation was not retroactive. I let the Wizengamot crow about that, laughing smugly at me behind their hands. I was still stuck with Malfoy. And I had to agree to immediately cohabit with him. Immediate as in the instant the Healers brought him out of the coma and he was fit to go home.

Which would not be the Manor. Narcissa protested about that but I pointed out that I was the materfamilias until my eldest child came of age. The same laws that bound me to Malfoy also bound him to me. I had custody of him as a Veela. So although she was the wife of the elder Malfoy, Lucius had forfeited his rights when he was imprisoned for life. I was the head bitch in charge.

I was a little more tactful than to actually say that out loud but I was thinking it. And I kept thinking it all the way to my parents' house after my release from jail. I'd bought the house before I went to Azkaban, using Malfoy money. My mum and dad were doubtless pleased with the generous price and I had a place to live that wasn't Malfoy Manor. Not that I planned to stay long. I'd rent out this house and lease something closer to London.

I spent my first day out of jail unpacking. I spent my first night out on the town with my friends. We had a huge party at one of the new style dance clubs in Diagon Alley. Not really to my taste but Ginny chose it because it was a large enough space everyone could fit at once while also allowing people to arrive and go as they wished.

I got absolutely pissed. Magical cocktails are even more potent than Muggle ones, and they drink very easy. I had two fruity drinks, a lemony one and something on fire then after that I was numb from the brain down. I think Hannah Apparated me home. Whoever it was kindly left me a hang-over potion and a large bottle of orange juice. Nectar of the gods.

A little delicate but largely recovered from my binge, I was eating a fry up brunch when Malfoy darkened my door. Molly had sent over a hamper of supplies and once I'd got my bearings I'd go grocery shopping. I let him in, weathering his glare all the way back to the kitchen wherein I resumed my seat and my meal.

“Mother informs me you have agreed to the marriage contract.” His voice was hoarse and brittle. I nodded, chewing. “Just like that?”

“I was in Azkaban for three months. There was no 'just'.” Or justice. But at least no one else would ever be railroaded like I had been. Was it enough? Probably not. It was a start. I could fight my way through the rest as and when necessary. I was a lion. I could fight. I've been fighting for years. Though it would've been nice to lie in the sun for a while.

“You must truly hate me.” Malfoy stood there in a suit that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. He looked good. Who was I kidding? He looked delicious. I wanted to do things with him that were illegal in several countries. But he was standing paralysed in the middle of the kitchen as though struck by an epiphany.

“Not really.” I'd had a lot of time to think about that too. “You said you hated me. I can believe that. For my part, it's more a sad sort of disbelief. I don't know how someone so clever could have believed in an ideology so wrong. The childhood bully stuff doesn't help.”

“You would rather be imprisoned than be my mate.” He pointed this out as though I needed reminding. I didn't. I'd also thought about that a lot. Pacing and sweating and despising myself.

“I didn't get put into Gryffindor because I was reckless or brash.” I dipped a corner of toast in the runny egg yolk. “I have determination enough for a whole pride. You and your mother tried to make me bend. I don't.” I looked at him. “Not to that sort of sneering privilege.”

“Few brides want legislation as their dower.” He was still a menhir, holding himself remote. I couldn't read him.

“Few brides are wooed with biochemical compulsions.” I finished my egg and toyed with my bacon while he stared at me. I felt hot. Overdressed. And stubbornly unwilling to approach him. I wasn't going to order him to heel either.

“I am sorry I bit you.” The apology was acceptable. Tidy. Probably even sincere as I didn't think he'd relish having gone feral.

“I am sorry I upset you.” I reciprocated. “I thought I was helping us both.”

That thawed him a little. He strode over to the table, putting his hands on the back of a chair where I could see them. He didn't sit and I didn't invite him to sit. I noticed he was wearing silver cuff links shaped like snakes. I was never going to let him pick out my clothes.

“The exchange of magic sealed the mating bond. I didn't know it would. It was a shock.” He spoke carefully, edging towards a truce.

“You dropped your Occlumency shields.” I stated. He nodded. All very civil. I stood up, carrying my plate and cutlery to the sink. His eyes never left me. I could feel the heat of his gaze on my skin. Arousal ran like lightning down my spine.

“I was angry.” That had been pretty damn obvious.

“So was I.” I washed my hands and dried them, not airing any of the snappy comments I could have. “And I don't think I'll ever be comfortable with being able to order you around.” He shrugged. “It matters.”

“So we'll compromise.” He smirked. I wanted to throw the tea towel at him.

“I'll believe that when I see it.” I edged around the counter so there was nothing between us but space. “I'm not going to live at the Manor. You can live where you like but I'm going to find my own place.” I studied him, noting his hands clenching and unclenching. “How bad is it?”

“Bad.”

I drew my wand and raised the wards on the house, locking the doors and windows. Anyone who knew Malfoy was out of hospital would be able to figure out why my curtains were drawn in the middle of the day. I didn't expect any visitors. I headed upstairs with him a pace behind me.

The main bedroom was still my parents' room. If we were going to do this I didn't want them metaphysically or metaphorically looking over my shoulder. I'd put the two single beds in the guest room, transfiguring them together. I'd added a few pillows but it was cotton sheets not seductive satin. I sighed.

“I don't want you to lie there.” There was some tension in his voice now. “As I plough the field.”

“Don't worry.” I shut the door. We could do this other ways. I'd found all sorts of acts to share intimacy, and a loving relationship need not be built on sex. I didn't think Malfoy would inform on me if we didn't consummate our marriage within the legal definition. But Narcissa certainly would, and I didn't want her in our bedroom either. “In this room, you will call me Mistress.”

“In this room, you will call me supplicant.” He answered, breathless.

I undressed him down to his skin. He'd softened while he was asleep, gaining a little weight and losing some muscle definition. He looked more approachable, less like something coiled to strike. I took a step back and took off my clothes. If I'd been less nervous I might've ordered him to do it for me but I didn't want to lose my nerve.

I kissed him.

I couldn't tell who shivered more. I felt his hands tremble on my hips, a feather light touch hastily withdrawn. I broke the kiss to catch my breath and I saw the flicker of dismay cross his face before he hid it. He didn't trust me. Well, that was fair enough because I didn't trust him either.

“Lie down on the bed, supplicant.” I ordered. He complied at light speed, shoving the pillows around before stretching out on his back, erection jutting. He was a fallen angel sent to tempt me. I succumbed.

Stretching out beside him, I played with myself as he watched. I wanted him but I was tense. A few minutes of familiar touches and I shivered again. Before I could convince myself this was a bad idea, I straddled Malfoy. His hands fisted in the bedding, unwilling to move, to risk doing anything that might convince me to deny him. I had to look away to guide myself onto him and because I didn't want to see his yearning.

Ron and I... not really the best time to think of my boyfriend, I know... we hadn't got this far. He'd gone down on me and I'd got quite good at blowjobs. We'd had sex. We just hadn't done this. I told myself that it wasn't a milestone. I wasn't giving Malfoy anything special.

He groaned as I slid down onto him. The stretch was uncomfortable. My thighs trembled with the effort of going slow. I shifted and his glans rubbed across my G-spot and I relaxed a bit more at that familiar feeling. Ron was good with his hands. I rolled my hips, looking for a good angle, leaning forward until oh yes, there it was.

“You may touch me.” I gave Malfoy permission. Draco, I corrected myself. You're fucking him, you should use his first name. I gasped when he ran his hands up my back, arching as though he had electrocuted me. We could've been on the black sand beach. I could smell salt and almost hear the waves. Cold crisp air swirled around me, tingling over my skin.

He didn't last long. Neither did I. The second time was better. I let him do more, let him be on top and let myself enjoy the ride. He came when I kissed his neck, scraping his skin with my teeth. The third time...

Quite a while later, I was in the shower washing my bits gently when Malfoy invited himself in. I glared as he leaned against the vanity. I like my privacy. Years of boarding school and living at the Burrow had shown me a bathroom of my own was a luxury I craved.

“I still want to fuck you.” He announced.

“Thanks for sharing.” I scrubbed my armpits in as unalluring a way as possible. “Did you hope the mating bond would magically go away once I gave in?”

“It would've been easier if it had.” He crossed his arms over his bare chest, having got only as far as his boxer shorts when he'd dressed. “I can feel you. You're sore.” He eyed me. “And you're unhappy.”

“I don't imagine you're kicking up your heels with delight right now either.” I couldn't sense anything from him beyond the ordinary. Occlumency was a handy skill. “I'll be content with you not running amok and everyone else minding their own business.”

“You won't.” The contradiction was more a statement than a sneer. He shifted uncomfortably then swore and yanked off his underwear to join me under the spray. He bumped his head on the shower-head, muttering about Muggle contraptions. “Merlin, you're short.”

“Well spotted.” I was in fact exactly average height for a woman from one of the industrialised nations. Which I was prepared to inform him except I was distracted by the play of water on his skin, opalescent not silver like his tears had been. Except over the Mark. It had faded but still looked oily. A stain that would never scrub out.

“I was proud of it.” He said distantly, noticing where I was staring. “I wonder if Voldemort knew about the Veela? If he wanted a leash? My father was Marked early too.”

“It's possible.” Tom Riddle had been a cunning bastard before he had broken himself. “But your father didn't have a heat when he first met your mother, did he? You said it was the wedding prep that set him off.”

“He'd already been Marked.” Malfoy shrugged and started soaping himself, lathering the foam thickly over his forearm to obscure the skull and snake. “He never said anything.” His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “There was a great deal he never told me.”

“That's a chronic affliction in magical circles. Dumbledore gave us the mushroom treatment too.” At his quizzical eyebrow, I explained the Muggle expression. “Keep us in the dark and feed us shit.” He made a sound that could've been a laugh. “I don't want that to be what it's like between us. If we can't have trust, we can at least try for honesty.”

“You think that'll be enough?” His tone betrayed his doubts.

“I don't know.” I gave him some of that truth I wanted so much. “But it's all we have.”


	11. Apricity

Malfoy went back to his mother after three days, presumably to report successful debauchery. I didn't ask. I cleaned up after we'd eaten breakfast then plodded around the house tidying up to avoid thinking about things. Like how carefully I had read the legal definitions of contraception.

I had used no charm, hex, curse, jinx, malign transfiguration, potion or alchemical substance. I bet the Ministry thought they'd stymied a work-around when they also listed pills. But they hadn't specified injections. Granted, because I was under surveillance I couldn't go to a Muggle doctor myself as some prod-nose would definitely ask my GP what I'd requested. However, Hannah could. She Confounded the doctor, brought the needle in sterile packaging to me and I'd injected myself in the club toilets. Classy.

For all the skulduggery, it might not work. That was what was bothering me. The brand of progestin contraceptive I'd used at a 3% failure rate in ordinary conditions. I was cutting it close, and no amount of vigorous scrubbing or intimate personal hygiene was going to settle my mind. Crossing my fingers and hoping Malfoy was shooting blanks wasn't a sound strategy either.

I felt a hypocrite for talking about trust while having no intention of discussing my reproductive health with my soon-to-be husband until we were married. Once I had complied with the contract and the Ministry couldn't haul me back to Azkaban, then I'd talk to him about it. Assuming it worked. We might be having a very different conversation.

Someone Apparated into the back garden. Wand in hand, because an excuse to hex someone would be wonderful right now, I checked. It was Ron, with a picnic hamper. I rushed outside and hugged him.

“You okay?” He asked into my hair, arms tight around me. I snivelled something. We went inside and he unpacked an enormous Black Forest gateau. “Mum made it. She thought you could use cheering up. She threw a cake tin at Dad when he tried to steal some of the cherries.”

I ate cake. Ron sat and watched me eat for a bit then got up to raid the fridge. That was not a good sign.

“I'm not happy about marrying him.” I said, giving him an opening if he wanted to rant. He just nodded.

“But you're going to have to, right?” He spoke to the leftover quiche. “Or it's back to jail.”

“I'm not just shrugging and giving up.” I caught myself before I said 'I'm not taking this lying down' because neither of us needed that mental image. “But, yes, for the time being.”

“I'm not happy about that either.” Ron brought the whole plate of quiche to the table and angrily stabbed it with a fork. “I don't want you to think that I'm going to be a git about it.” He paused to chew and glare at the egg pie. “I thought a lot while you were away. Got bloody angry.”

“Me too.” I agreed, licking cherry jam off my teeth like it was blood. There was an after-taste the sweetness couldn't hide. “Ron, did your mother tell you not to eat any of this cake?” I asked oh-so-casually. I got an affirmative around a mouthful of quiche. I put my fork down.

“Don't ask. She didn't say what it was.” He speared a cube of ham out of the quiche and vengefully bit it. “She did say if I'd got you in the family way I could've spared you this.”

“Lovely.” I put a hand on his. “This isn't on you.” He looked at me with his bright eyes, as blue as the summer sky that used to make me feel giddy. Used to. “I love you and I want you to be happy. Having a baby before we're ready, before we wanted to, could've ruined our friendship. I'd rather resent Malfoy than you for pushing me into something.”

“He does make a very pretty ferret.” Ron grinned. He leaned in then sat abruptly back, thinking better of kissing me. “Merlin, this is awkward.”

“It's okay.” It wasn't really. But I did want him to find some happiness. “Hannah Abbot's single. She's a nice girl.”

“She is.” He agreed tentatively. I put a hand on his shoulder and a serious expression on my face.

“Go have fun with her. With anyone you fancy. Be moderately irresponsible so I can live vicariously through you. Harry's no thrill. He and your sister are too sweet together.” I smiled. I was glad Harry was enjoying some good karma. God knows he'd earned it.

“I reckon I can be moderately irresponsible.” Ron smoothed a hand through my hair. “I love you too. I'd kill Malfoy for you. I thought about it.”

“So have I.” I sighed. “He's an arse but this isn't his fault. And he's signed up for an unspecified duration of my nagging.” I grinned. “Which I will be doing to the best of my ability. I'll have him volunteering in soup kitchens before the end of the year.”

Ron laughed. We talked about inconsequential stuff, vague plans for travel and caught up on things I'd missed while imprisoned. It was nice. He was my friend. I would fight to keep him in my life. He rushed off to help George, having lost track of time, leaving the hamper. I checked over the food and found most of it had been doctored with what Madam Pomfrey had euphemistically called 'menstruation regulators'.

The plant extracts weren't as reliable at the standard potion but they would help. Molly had included a short note saying that if I wanted any more 'home-cooking' I had only to ask. I had plausible deniability. My conscience smarted more over involving Molly in what could be criminal charges than over the deception.

The ethical qualms evaporated entirely when I finished sorting through my correspondence from the Ministry. I'd lost my job and because I had gone to Azkaban for a 'crime of moral character' I was ineligible to be rehired. I could appeal, after a probational period of ten years exemplary conduct. I wasn't going to appeal. Well-behaved women seldom made history.

So what was I going to do?

I took stock of my life. I had to organise a wedding. I had to spend a nominal amount of time with Malfoy. What did he want to do with his life? It wasn't likely he wanted to study at a Muggle university but he could certainly enrol in a general course if something caught his interest. Or that could be our time apart, which would mean we'd have to live together.

The Ministry had specified co-habitation but that simply meant the same residence. If I didn't see Malfoy during the day, I'd have to see him at night. I corrected myself. He would have to see me. It was important I keep that perspective. He needed me. I didn't need him.

So, what did I need? A plan, was my first immediate answer. Wedding. House. Meeting with the goblins to sort out my finances. A briefing on Lucius's sentence. Final check of my parents' paper-trail in the UK. I wrote down everything in a nice, clear list that made me feel much better. Empowered. Free.

I was making a shopping list when Malfoy returned. He looked polished in a suit and formal robes. An elf in a pale grey pillowcase accompanied him, carrying a wooden coffer. He looked around at the kitchen then shuddered. The elf, not Malfoy. I continued writing.

“This is Rolly.” Malfoy introduced the elf. “He is going to keep house for us, as we are going to be busy. Mother insisted.”

“That's nice.” I considered how much ink I would need and doubled the quantity on the list. I'd stock up on quick-drying, waterproof speciality blends too as I anticipated sending a lot of letters. The Malfoys had owls enough I didn't need to buy one or constantly duck out to the Post. I would charm the letters for privacy, just in case Narcissa tried to spy on me more than with a single elf.

“Mother would like the wedding to be at Malfoy Manor.” His tone suggested he was waiting for me to lose my temper. He'd be waiting a while. I was going to be mature and level-headed about this fiasco.

“Your mother will be disappointed.” I looked up. “Rolly, are you aware that until Lucius is released from Azkaban or we get Draco off the Creature Registry, I am the Head of the House of Malfoy?”

“Yes, Mistress.” Rolly looked like he would rather pull out his own tongue than admit it but he was loyal. Whether that had been beaten into him, I didn't know. Lucius had been horrible to Dobby. The social dynamics between house elves and wizarding folk was far more complex than I had understood when I had start SPEW. I still knew cruelty when I saw it however.

“I would like you to act as Draco's personal attendant. I don't require you to do more than that.” Whatever Malfoy ordered the elf to do was between him and Rolly. I didn't want to get too comfortable with having someone at my beck and call. I shifted my attention to the wizard. “Ignoring what your mother wants, do you have any preferences about the wedding?”

“Not ignoring what my mother wants would be one of my preferences.” He said with some force. “I'm her only child. It's bad enough we have to marry like this without excluding her.”

“I doubt Merlin would be capable of excluding your mother.” My tact had evidently become rusty during my incarceration. The snide remark got Malfoy's back up. “She can be involved. But Malfoy Manor is non-negotiable. Ron, Harry, Luna and Dean will all be at the ceremony. Even if I could force myself into that bloody house again, I wouldn't do that to them!”

I was standing and shouting when I finished, surprising myself with my own vehemence. Malfoy took a step closer, towering over me, trying to use his height to dominate the conversation.

“He's been here.” His possessiveness was blatant.

“He has.” I confirmed, rankled. “What do you think happened? My boyfriend popped by and despite me spending the last couple of days in unholy debauchery with you, I decided to shag him on the kitchen table?” I grabbed his tie and pulled his face closer to mine. “Go on, have a good sniff.”

“He wants to take you away from me.” He might have sounded plaintive and I might have been sympathetic but he ground the words out between his teeth.

“He's hardly the only one. I've had a good few offers to smuggle me out of the country.” It had been tempting but I had decided against life on the run or as a Muggle in favour of reforming the system from the inside. Less dramatic, more pragmatic. “And yet, here I am, arguing with you.”

“How can you be so irritating and so arousing at the same time?” Malfoy demanded, sliding closer until we were chest to chest. I still had hold of his tie.

Upstairs, I knotted his hands in the dark green silk and vanished his clothes. After our consent ritual. I never wanted to forget that. I kept my clothes on and the door firmly locked. Rolly had instructions, from Malfoy, to inform visitors his Master and Mistress were not at home.

“You seem to think I am going to indulge you.” I slid a hand down his chest, curling my fingers so my nails scraped down his pale skin. I traced the pink lines with my other hand. He closed his eyes as he shivered from the sensation. When my fingernails reached his public hair he twitched. I circled my fingertips around the base of his shaft. “But I don't think I will.”

I explored his body instead. He had scars. I touched every one, wondering how and when he'd suffered. Some I could guess. Buckbeak. Harry's Sectumsempra. The Dark Mark. He flinched when my fingers traced the serpent, his eyes screwing tighter shut. 

I smoothed my hand up his arm, across his chest, my fingers moving lightly up his neck, along the line of his jaw. I touched his lips with a fingertip then followed the touch with a kiss. His breath caught.

I pulled back and his eyes opened. He watched me step out of my knickers. I climbed onto the bed, hitching up my skirt but not removing any more of my clothes. The dichotomy between him naked and bound, and me fully clad and free excited him. I saw the flush of his arousal before I straddled him.

I didn't move. I was still a bit tender so riding him at a gallop didn't appeal. It was different to feel him inside me. Nice, I suppose. Not clinical or invasive or demeaning or any of the other adjectives I had anticipated. I didn't feel a wondrous, magical connection to him. But I did have to admit to myself there was a closeness. A sharing.

“Where do you want to get married?” I asked, settling my weight on my shins. Draco groaned.

“You're asking now? Now?” He made a noise like a strangled growl, bucking his hips under me.

“Shorn of artifice and cunning, yes.” I put my hands flat on his chest, thumbs rubbing small circles around his nipples. He made more noises. I let him move against me. The slow staccato pace was almost a massage. I could get used to this.

“Glynn Nathan.” He panted. “The Cuva.” He subsided onto the bed, glaring at me. “Muggles call it St Nectan's Kieve. They trample over the sacred site, but it's beautiful.”

“In Cornwall, near Tintagel.” I recalled after some thought. I'd read about the site in reference to clootie wells but I'd never been there. No memories of my parents and it wasn't Malfoy Manor. “We'll have the ceremony there, then hold the reception in Tinworth. Fireworks on the beach.”

That settled, I explored more of what I might learn from Draco's body. I climbed off him after I had brought myself to a gradual sweet climax then undressed as he lay there breathing hard, probably half expecting me to leave him unsated. I didn't. I tucked myself in behind him, touching him, kissing the sweat from his neck. I used my hands to bring him to orgasm then undid the silk tie.

“Bitch.” Malfoy growled.

“You can leave whenever you like.” I nestled into the pillows. He stayed where he was, the little spoon. I cuddled against him and he relaxed. We had a nap together, wanting to preserve the intimacy. I woke to him running his hand over the bruise-scar that stretched from my sternum to my hip.

“You were in the Hospital Wing a long time. I noticed that. Even with everything else going on.” He shifted onto his elbow so he could look down at me. “I want a wedding feast.” He demanded. “A formal one like my grandparents had. Ten courses. A thousand guests.”

“A thousand people?” I stared at him, wondering if I was dreaming or if he was concussed. “Are you mad?”

“Pragmatic. I want to rebuild my family's reputation. And you want to heal the wounds from the war. A lavish party now that most of the rebuilding is done won't offend anyone's sensibilities.” His mouth twisted into a serpentine smile. “Didn't you ever imagine your dream wedding as a girl, Granger?”

“I imagined going to university and becoming a professor. I used to play dress-up with my mother's mortar board.” I hadn't in fact much considered getting married as a child. I'd pictured myself wearing academic robes as my parents had when they had got their graduate degrees. My only wish concerning my wedding came from attending a family friend's when I was ten; no pinchy shoes.

“That should not surprise me.” He smirked then coiled against me like I was a sun-warmed rock. “I don't give a damn who you invite or even what we serve. I want the best and brightest to toast us, even if they choke on their champagne.” His breath brushed against my neck in a long sigh. “I want my life back.”

“What do you want to do with yourself?” I didn't care about the wedding, not really. It wasn't mine, just something I had to have.

“Once I can fucking think again, I'm going to get my Charms Mastership. I've arsed about long enough.” He sounded angry and purposeful.

“Why Charms?” I would've guessed Potions if I'd had to pick.

“Such of the family businesses that the Ministry hasn't seized are concentrated around manufacture. I need to know about Charm creation and enchantment if I'm going to innovate.” I felt his lips curl against my skin, showing me a smirk I couldn't see. “I could lounge at home, socialise and buy expensive tat as most pure-blood spouses do. Fancy a drone for a husband?”

“I do not.” I didn't say that he wouldn't be going on any shopping sprees because I had control of the purse strings. I wasn't happy about holding that leash either. “I think Charms is a splendid idea. I might do the same. Or Transfiguration. Both fields are fascinating.”

“You won't be able to transfigure yourself when you're expecting.” He cautioned, actually sounding concerned.

Ah, yes, that. I wanted to have this discussion after we were married but ignoring the opening or brushing off the subject would very likely come back to bite me. I turned my head to look Malfoy in the eye.

“I'm using Muggle contraception. It's not on the Ministry list. I don't know if it will work. Everything I've read about Veela breeding has been frustratingly reticent about the physiological processes.” I said all that on one breath then inhaled deeply. “I intend to keep doing everything I legally can to put off having a baby.”

I felt the tension run through him. We were lying skin to skin. The muscle contraction as he reacted to what I had said told me that despite the even tone he used to ask his question he wasn't happy. Far from it. The Slytherin mask was firmly in place. We could've been discussing the weather.

“How long do you plan to put it off?” He didn't pull away from me. He didn't move.

“I don't know.” I gave it some thought. “If I had married someone I loved and planned for a family, I think I would've started trying for my first child in my late twenties. Depending on our financial situation. Certainly not before I was twenty-five.” Of course, I was currently unemployed and a multi-millionaire. Never expected that. “My mum had me when she was thirty. That's fairly normal for Muggles.”

“Thirty.” He said it like I had said one hundred.

“Witches have had children well into their sixties, if they're healthy and have avoided the Dark Arts. Muggles usually need medical help to get pregnant after forty-five but it's far from impossible.” I explained as though it would make any difference. “I know you want an heir. I want kids too, just not right now.”

“My parents tried for eight years to have me, and kept trying for a second child. You don't understand how difficult it is.” He stopped, evidently not liking the pleading undertone to his voice.

“Think of it this way.” I searched for a détente. “Say we'd had a drunken one-night stand at the graduation party and a few weeks later I told you I was pregnant, what would you have done?”

“ I would assume the baby was Weasley's and wait until you gave birth to confirm paternity.” He answered promptly. “If the baby were mine, I'd acknowledge him. In the fullness of time, if I didn't have any other children I would legitimise him so he could inherit.” He regarded me flatly. “My child would want for nothing. Even if you and I couldn't be in the same room without cursing each other, I would be there for my son.”

“Or daughter?” I questioned. He shrugged.

“Malfoys have had only sons for generations. If I had a daughter, I would be delighted.” Quite a different sort of smile than usual brightened his face. “I would teach her how to dance and take her to the theatre. And show her how to hex anyone who crossed her. She'd be my princess.”

“You said ages ago you wanted sovereignty. So do I.” I didn't want to be a broodmare.

“I could wait until I was twenty-five.” The words were hesitant, already bunkered down to face an explosion.

“I would appreciate that.” I didn't have many options and I wasn't sure how successful they would be. “I'd suggest condoms but they're banned too. I can probably thank generations of half-blood mistresses for the Wizengamot being so aware of conceptive methods.” I scowled at the pernicious legislators. “There are plenty of things we can do together that won't get me pregnant.”

“I didn't mind what we did.” Malfoy told my shoulder, resuming his basking pose. “I'll never admit it in public but I like you on top.” His hand strayed to my breast in an impertinent caress. “Want to punish me for my presumption, Mistress?”


	12. Dessert

There was some punishing before Malfoy took himself off again. I kind of liked it. It was fun to explore. I'm not entirely sure what I think of fooling around with Malfoy. We're stuck together for the interim but that doesn't mean we're trapped in a Jacobean tragedy of unrelenting woe. So, maybe, I can be a bit hopeful.

I tell myself that repeatedly as I organise a wedding. The Cornwall bit was actually easy. I made a few phone calls then Apparated to Tintagel and rented a car. St Nectan's Kieve was in a nature reserve and although it had a walking trail ending in a hermitage to cater to tourists, there was enough of the wild magic that I understood the appeal. The waterfall on the River Trevillet and the woodland were restful. Refreshing. A good place for new beginnings.

The river valley was narrow and the basin, the kieve, was shallow. If we wanted to ritually bathe in the waters then the wedding party would have to be small. Six people at most or it would start to look like a municipal swimming pool. I sat on a damp rock idly staring at a tree with strips of cloth tied to its branches, the clooties of the clootie well, and told myself I didn't mind so much.

The location wasn't somewhere I would've picked so it held neither expectation or disappointment. We didn't need to make a spectacle of the rite. Malfoy and I could do this for ourselves quite privately. Half and hour, an officiant and two witnesses. That seemed a bit sparse even for an arranged marriage. Conversely, we had the gargantuan feast. Did I want to mammoth events? I did not.

I drove back to town, did some grocery shopping then shrank it discretely before returning the car. When I got home I owled Ginny and Luna wanting their input for the ceremony. I should make a little effort just so it didn't look like I was being dragged by my hair. There might be a nice handfasting ritual that would be appropriate for the setting. Something casual. It was bad enough I had to share my body with Malfoy. I wasn't going to bind my magic to him too.

I made a pumpkin curry for dinner while Rolly sulked. Malfoy had left him with nothing to do and nicely reared pure-blood witches did not chop vegetables in their own kitchens. My cooking habit was clearly going to rankle the house elf. Having him pouting at me wasn't adding lustre to my day. I made it worse when I asked him what he'd like to do because serving his people was his raison d'etre. I had to forbid him from shutting his fingers in a drawer when he complained I wasn't ordering him about.

So we compromised. Rolly peeled the pumpkin, which I could never do neatly, and stirred the curry after I'd made it while I looked through some books on marriage rites. There were a surprising number of them, old hold-overs from the days where couples crafted their own personal rituals unique to their magic. If I incorporated some Arithmancy into the choice I could find an array that would suit us.

Ginny, Molly, Fleur, Angelina and Luna found me scribbling away. They Apparated into the back garden then trudged in as though they were bringing food to a wake. I was hugged sequentially as Ginny opened a bottle of wine. She'd brought several.

“It's not as bad as that.” I accepted a glass and sipped it. The Harpies had a lot of corporate parties so Ginny had developed a taste for expensive plonk. She'd brought a nice Riesling and quaffed it like beer because she didn't want to get pretentious.

“You've just got out of jail. Wait a bit then tell me being shackled to the Ferret isn't that bad.” She shook her head, helping herself to the biscuit barrel. I hadn't baked anything but I had bought fancy shortbread. “Merlin, I'm hungry. Bloody coach had us doing point drills all afternoon.”

“Have some curry. There's naan in the bread box.” I offered then extended the catering to the rest of my guests. Rolly leapt to bring everyone bowls, which got me a lot of looks. There wasn't anything I could say beyond whinging so I shrugged.

We ate and chatted and flicked through books. Molly reminisced about her vows. She and Arthur had chosen a vernal blessing to invoke a fruitful marriage, about which she smiled fondly until she espied the hamper by the kitchen counter. Her expression changed and she said tightly that perhaps I would prefer something more formal.

Fleur tried to persuade her mother-in-law and sister-in-laws that I wasn't damned to endless misery but they didn't want to hear it. I think she came solely to be the upbeat note in the dirge. Angelina urged me again to leave the country. Facing Malfoy in Quidditch games had convinced her irrevocably that he was a vicious, conniving little shit.

“I think waking up has opened his eyes.” Luna mused, meticulously spearing each piece of cauliflower with her fork and examining it critically before eating it. “It's difficult to tell with someone who has been asleep for so long. He may still be lost in the bad dream.”

“What rite do you think we should use?” I asked generally while looking at the tranquil blonde. 

“Oh, the four elements should do, don't you think? Your fire and earth to his air and water.” She stirred her fork in the curry, searching for hidden brassica. “A good balance, and he'll feel properly married.”

“Who gives a damn about what he feels?” Ginny put her wine glass down with a pugnacious slam.

“Hermione does.” Luna answered simply, more frankly than I would have. Ginny muttered something that might've been 'bloody Veela' then apologised to Fleur.

“Honestly, it's not because of the mating urge.” I tried to explain and got four sceptical faces. Even Fleur thought my dislike of Malfoy was being ameliorated by his aura. The more I tried, the more quietly sympathetic they got. No one patted my head and said 'there, there' but that was certainly what it felt like. I diverted the conversation to what I should wear as my current choice was a petulant combo of jeans and a jumper.

That was a tactical error. The levity I'd hoped to inject turned poisonous as the Weasleys collectively decided I was out of my mind. The Hermione Granger they knew would not be distracting herself with fripperies when her liberty was imperilled. I wasn't sure if they expected me to be bitterly drowning my sorrows in Ginny's Riesling while bemoaning my fate as a bride sacrifice or to run amok through the Ministry slinging curses.

I back-pedalled, tried again to explain, made it worse then found myself defaulting to the rationalisation I had used in Azkaban. Better to go on my terms headlong into the fray than to die by inches in a small grey box. More dramatic than I wanted to be but they accepted that as genuinely Hermione. I suppose I should take it as a compliment that they assumed I'd go down kicking and screaming. I'd like to think I'd be a smarter martyr than that.

No one was in the mood to talk about posh frocks least of all me so we finished the wine and the curry talking about politics and how I might rattle the dovecotes. Ginny's suggestions became more and more scatological as the Riesling progressed. Molly took her home after she suggested spiking the Ministry's drinking water with U-No-Poo. Angelina stayed a bit longer to assure me I had friends and one word from me would see Malfoy in St Mungo's.

Fleur was more encouraging. I could mould Malfoy as I wished and one day he would be a worthy spouse. I nodded to that, having said much the same to Ron. I planned to use nagging and stubbornness rather than outright command or the feminine wiles the French witch seemed to assume I had. Her suggestion I get pregnant quickly left me gobsmacked.

“Ze Malfoys love no thing more than family. You saw how they were in ze battle, calling for their son. And you know Narcissa when her son was pining.” Fleur's tone held a hint of censure at my refusal to acknowledge my mate-bond with Malfoy. “Have a child with him and you will bind both son and mother to you.”

“I'm not going to use my child as a human shield!” I protested. Fleur gave me an unreadable look then took her leave to return to Victoire. Of course her tactic would work. Particularly in the wizarding world. People clung to their heirs. Bill would never leave Fleur and Malfoy would never abandon his child. Narcissa would probably overlook any number of my failings if I gave her a grandchild.

“I don't think you can evade motherhood.” Luna remarked, wiping a piece of flat-bread around her bowl.

“I don't think so either.” I agreed. “But I can put it off until I've got my life more in order. Hopefully.” I sat back in my chair. “If I get a house near a good primary, I could send my nebulous offspring there. Home-schooling and private tutors produce very inconsistent results.” It felt good to plan. “A small school, secular. Easier to manage covering up accidental magic.”

“If you have a Mastership, you can teach.” She popped the bread into her mouth then smiled. “This is very tasty curry. Mixing together disparate ingredients makes something wonderful.”

“Good point.” I studied her for a moment then nodded. Luna had been Sorted into Ravenclaw for her insight. “I'll think on that.”

“You look nice in blue.” 

The non sequitur made me smile. I did indeed look presentable in most shades of blue. Something in navy or indigo would do. I wasn't going to marry in pure white or celebratory red. I looked up the elemental rite while considering an officiant. While there were many people I would have chosen to perform my wedding ceremony, I didn't want to make any of them bind me to Malfoy. Misery might love company but I didn't want to inflict it on anyone.

Luna had just left when Malfoy returned looking gruntled. He looked so chipper I was immediately suspicious. He eyed the remains of the meal then sat down at the kitchen table with an air of tolerance. I frowned at his gracious disregard of the crumbs and dishes. I got in return a Slytherin smile.

“Alright, I'll ask.” I sighed as he was clearly waiting for an inquiry. “What have you done?”

He pulled a small box from his pocket and set it on the table before me. Leather, embossed with a gold crest. Sanctimonia Vincet Semper glittered at me. I opened the little container and beheld a ring. I couldn't just 'see' it. This was bling worthy of a 'behold' or even a 'harken'. A ruby the size of my thumbnail glittered at me set in gold.

“Please tell me you didn't throw your money away on this.” I stared, a leaden feeling in my gut.

“I can't buy anything. You control the vaults.” Malfoy's indolent posture vanished. He straightened in the chair, his eyes narrowing. “It's an heirloom. I looked for hours to find one in Gryffindor colours. Rare in my family, as you might expect.” He frowned when I snapped the box shut. “I thought you'd like it.”

“The ring is beautiful.” I began. He shook his head, snatching the box back and cutting off my platitudes.

“You're fucking determined to be a martyr.” He stuffed the container angrily back into his pocket and stood to leave.

“Sit down!” I ordered. Malfoy sat, glaring bitterly. I took a breath. “Sorry, but you need to listen to me.” I apologised for the direct command. He continued to glare. “Thank you for the gift, Draco.” I used his first name deliberately. “I appreciate the gesture.” I saw his sneer grow. “I do!”

“But you reject it.” His feathers were ruffled.

“You can't seriously be bringing shiny baubles to your mate in a courtship display.” I boggled at him. He shifted, still glaring but defensive now. I bit my lip to keep from laughing. He would not take that well.

“I don't fucking know how to deal with this.” He made an angry gesture between us. “It bites away at me. I notice stupid things. I nearly brought you my favourite scarf.” He grimaced. I smiled. I couldn't help myself. He looked like a sad kitten.

We got married on the solstice, at midnight standing in the pool at the foot of the waterfall with bluebell flames lighting the glade. Harry and Ron were there. Narcissa officiated. If she wanted her son married so badly, she could speak the rite herself. Malfoy didn't say much during the ceremony. Most of his attention was on the rocks and the cascade, drinking in the magic. My mind was curiously still. I noticed my feet were cold and the water creeping up the thin fabric of my dress but only incidentally.

Mostly the wedding just sort of happened. We Apparated there. We Apparated back. We broke bread with our witnesses and they toasted us. Then my friends and my mother-in-law left. I sat on the sofa in the undecorated living room and charmed myself dry. The feast was tomorrow. I'd shoved everything on Narcissa as she knew how to organise it far better than I did. The Malfoys had a small castle with a feasting hall because of course they did.

“Do you feel any different?” Draco asked, sitting down beside me.

“Not especially.” The rite had been interesting, like a well-balanced equation in Arithmancy. An energy exchange to resolve and compliment our magic. “A bit high, perhaps. I don't know.” I didn't feel drained or anything I could describe. “I liked the incantation. Your mother spoke the Ancient Greek perfectly.”

“She practised. The ceremony was very important to her.” He paused, possibly expecting me to scoff. I didn't. I had a pretty shrewd idea of how far Narcissa would go for her son. “After the rite, it's traditional for the groom to give the bride a gift. It's assumed in reciprocation of her gift to him of her virginity.” I gave him an icy stare. He took a deep breath. “After the ring debacle, I put a lot of thought into what to give you.”

Malfoy stopped talking. I waited, marshalling a polite acceptance speech for whatever present he'd picked. The thought that counts and so forth. He took another breath then turned his hands palm up to show me he was unarmed. A truce gesture.

“I'm sorry.” He said quietly but firmly. “I'm sorry for calling you names and being cruel to you. I'm sorry for making you feel less welcome, less worthy than other witches.” He wet his lips, his eyes meeting mine. “I'm sorry that you had to fight people like me to be accepted into society where you rightly belonged, and I'm very sorry that same society has forced you into a life with me.”

The quiet stretched between us. I made a decision. I mightn't like Fleur's strategy but her advice was sound. Luna, Hannah and Susan all had a point too. Self-sacrifice didn't necessarily leave you lacking something. If I shed my expectations and embraced this new opportunity in front of me I might achieve far more than I would otherwise. Stepping into the unknown was frightening. But their daring, nerve and chivalry set Gryffindors apart.

“I'm not sorry.” I said, putting my hands on his. “I'm nervous as Hell. I never expected this. I can adapt, though.” I curled my fingers around his and tugged him closer. “Think of it as a journey.” I kissed him softly. “Come walk with me?”


End file.
